For Goblins sake

For Goblins sake

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WpMetadataNoticeLast published Sun, Jan 3, 2016
This is a story told through the eyes of the messenger, the watcher that bridges the realms of humans and creatures, folklore and fairy-tales. A griffin, transmutes all dreams and wishes into the underworlds and sends them to the powers that be. After thousands of years a steady pace of dreams flowed unto him with ease, until now... imagination, subliminal messages, fear of isolation and segregation has pushed humans to their limits, dreams of magic and fantasy is at its peak. Goblins- the keepers of magic throughout the entire underworld are engineering their lairs and headquarters at such speed to maintain the magic that keeps them alive, for if found by humans there work will be for nothing. Rumors and fears are being spread throughout the underworld and earth itself that half breeds have been reborn. A medieval experiment of human DNA combined with goblins has created something far worse than a fire breathing, bone crunching, cat sucking dragon. An average gently family in the countryside of England has got more secrets than one could wish for. A halfbreed is amoung them, soon to be at its most powerful and dangerous age. Will someone be able to stop it or will love blind them all.
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#118
middlegrade
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It was the summer of 1976 when my father left us. It was a particularly memorable summer and my mother suffered terribly. My father had left her for a younger woman and moved into her apartment which was above a flower shop where she worked. My mother struggled making ends meet and got a job as a nursing assistant at Peaceful Haven, an old folks home that still exists although it is very badly run down now. Because she could not afford a baby sitter, my mother took me to work where I sat in the lounge and watched TV and read books. On her lunch breaks she took me across the street to Faulkner Park where she made out with Fred while I wandered around eating my sandwich. But I quickly grew bored. I was 8 then, a bright young girl with an active imagination. I imagined doors in the sandbox, swings into the sky, doors to another world. And in the rooms of the old lost souls were more doors only waiting to be opened. I took those souls with me on my adventures and eased their loneliness and age with my contagious eagerness to believe anything. And then a terrible thing happened to me, so terrible I could not speak of it. I was in hospital, unable to believe anymore and my old friends came to visit me and to believe for me. I am 30 now, and as I write this and look back I wonder if I still believe. And yes, I do. Believing got me through that summer and believing got my father to come home again.

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