By Mike Xenos (B class)

One Punch-Man (ワンパンマン WanPan-Man) is a Japanese webcomic and manga series created by ONE. The webcomic started in July 2009, with more than 10 million total views and 20,000 hits per day. Sheuisha’s Young Jump Next picked up the series, as well as commissioned Yusuke Murata, (known for Eyeshield 21) to draw the series with the original writer, ONE.

 Saitama (サイタマ, Saitama) is the main protagonist of OnePunch-Man and the most powerful hero alive. Saitama faces a self-imposed existential crisis, as he is now too powerful to gain any thrill from his deeds.

He registered with the Hero Association as a C-Class and eventually made a big leap to become a B-Class Superhero and is tasked to defend Z-City against Mysterious Beings. Under the Hero Association, he is given the name Caped Baldy (ハゲマント, Hagemanto).

 

 Appearance

Saitama is a bald, ordinary looking man with a thin, but well-built physique and of average height and weight. He claims to have lost all of his hair suddenly and prematurely as a result of the toll taken on his body by his intense hero training. Three years before the story line, Saitama had spiky, black hair and brown eyes that are usually represented by dots.

Saitama is usually deliberately drawn in a simpler style than all the other characters, with an elliptical shaped head and only a simple mouth and eyes. When drawn in a more serious style with more detail, Saitama is revealed to have sharp features, dangerous looking eyes, and a chiseled musculature. Even his posture undergoes a metamorphosis, with a slack posture and sloping elbows when lax, while possessing a straightened posture and squared shoulders when serious. His costume is a plain yellow jumpsuit with a short zipper at the collar and a belt. The costume is finished out by a red ensemble of boots, gloves and a white or red cape.

 Genos (ジェノス, Jenosu), is a 19 year old cyborg and the disciple of Saitama. He is always aiming to become stronger and fights for justice. Under the Hero Association, he is given the name Demon Cyborg (鬼サイボーグ, Oni Saibōgu) and is registered as an S-Class hero, at rank 14.

 

Appearance

Genos has an entirely mechanical body in the model of a handsome young man. His face and ears look like that of a normal human, made of an artificial skin material, and his eyes have black sclera with yellow irises. He has spiky blond hair. His eyebrows are usually portrayed as blond, but in the anime they are brown. He also has pierced ears. Genos wears normal street clothes and sleeveless tops and hoodies in order to allow his arms to transform without hassle. He has been shown to have many different sets of arms, with varying abilities and strengths. Notable examples of his various «arms» are those he used in his sparring match against Saitama[2] and the arms he equipped to combat the meteor[3]. Sometimes the arm sets he uses create a metal framing around his face, like those he used against the meteor and the Sea King.

 

The story takes place in the fictional Japanese metropolis of City Z. The world is full of strange monsters that mysteriously appear and cause disasters. Saitama, the protagonist, is an incredibly powerful hero who can easily defeat the monsters or other villains with a single punch. However, due to his overwhelming strength, Saitama has become bored with his powers and is constantly trying to find stronger opponents who can present a challenge to him.

On his adventures, he meets new friends, enemies, and his own disciple, the cyborg Genos, and joins the Heroes Association in order to gain official recognition as a hero. Despite defeating many strong monsters that even the Heroes Association’s top members are unable to defeat, Saitama struggles to gain respect. Most people look down on him due to his plain physical appearance, and some accuse him of being a counterfeit hero. Only a small number of individuals recognize his incredible talent and humility towards others.

By Dimitris Gerogiannis (B class)

Hello there! I am Jim and I love myths, urban legends, paranormal stories and chronicles of unexplainable mysteries and phenomena. As a kid, I actively sought books and articles on the topic, no matter how vaguely related. 20 years on, I still enjoy delving into the stories of the unknown. The difference being, 20 years ago I didn’t have access to the wonderful Word Web. These days, I literally have a world full of myths, legends and stories at my fingertips and so, I often indulge in long Google sessions, dedicated to geting as much information as I can. I am really intrigued by the unknown; it means that there are things yet to be discovered and mysteries to be solved.

 

It was during one of my many mystery binges, I came across the story of the Hat Man – a form of Shadow Person. I stumbled across the legend of the Shadow People completely by accident, clicking through random links on Wikipedia. But it was the related article about the Hat Man which piqued my interest greatly. It roused a long dormant memory from within the depths of my mind. The following is an account of my encounter with what I now believe to be the Hat Man.

 

I don’t recall how old I was around 5 or 6 but it must’ve been quite late at night. My parents had retired for the night and the house was completely dark. The only source of light was the gentle wash of moonlight filtering through the thin curtains into my room. I was lying on the top bunk of the bunk bed my dad had made for us; the botom bunk was occupied by my younger brother Argy, who had been sleeping soundly for hours. It was nearly Christmas and I was laying awake, pondering the complexities of the world, something that has become a bit of a habit over the years. Although, it was likely the huge intricacies I was trying to figure out in my mind had something to do with how long it was until Christmas, on that particular night.

 

As I was staring at the ceiling, completely emerged in my own thoughts, I suddenly became aware of a feeling spreading through my body. A chill went up the back of my neck, making my hairs stand on end. If I had been close to falling asleep, I was wide awake now. I held my breath and laid stone still, straining to hear something which would give me a clue as to what it was that had put me on edge so suddenly. I heard nothing, other than my brother’s rhythmic deep breathing from the bed below. When I could hold my breath no longer, I let it go as quietly as I possibly could. I couldn’t hear anything out of the ordinary, so, after a few more minutes of laying as still as possible, I decided to roll onto my side, so I could see out of the bedroom door, into the hallway. I did this in such a way that it would seem, to anybody looking in on me, as though I was rolling over in my sleep; just in case one of my parents came in and gave me an earful for not being asleep, as I was supposed to be.

 

As I completed my expert manoeuvre, I heard a noise in the hallway. It sounded like footsteps, which was a relief – it was just my dad, checking on something in the house. But, as the footsteps drew nearer to my bedroom door, a wave of unease washed over me again. My dad was always very careful about being as quiet as possible, when walking around after lights out, so as not to wake anyone. Listening to this particular set of footsteps, I wondered if perhaps this was my mum, as the perpetrator seemed to be making no attempts to mask their sounds.

 

I pondered this curiosity, as a figure emerged from the hallway and came to a stop in the doorway of my bedroom. Once again, I found myself holding my breath trying to be as still as possible. The figure stood in the doorway, breathing quite loudly. It was definitely a man, judging by the sound of the breathing. For a few moments, I relaxed, thinking that it was my dad after all. I started breathing again and closed my eyes, pretending to be asleep. But the sound of the breathing stayed in the doorway. I opened my eyes again and took in the image before me. My blood ran cold. My dad did not habitually linger in doorways. Also, my dad was nowhere near as tall as the door frame, nor did he wear or even own a wide brimmed hat. I stayed as still as I could, hoping that the figure could not see that I was awake. With that monologue running through my mind, I was reminded of the line from the Christmas carol, “He sees you when you’re sleeping… he knows when you’re awake.” I smiled to myself – the figure in the doorway was Santa Claus and he was waiting for me to fall asleep! Of course! It made sense, being so close to Christmas.

 

I closed my eyes once more, ready to fall asleep. Once more, I got that feeling of unease. The hairs on my neck stood on end, once again. Something was not quite fitting about that conclusion. Santa doesn’t wear a wide brimmed hat. Also, I was fairly certain that he is never depicted as tall and broad shouldered. The figure in the doorway definitely did not look or feel very Santa-ish at all. My eyes were open again. I needed to figure out who was standing in the doorway. Even with the light passing in through the curtains, I could not make out any details of the figure. My eyes had adjusted fairly well to the darkness by now and I could make out just about everything around this figure. But whoever was standing in the doorway may as well have been a shadow. The only thing that told me that this was not a shadow, was the heavy breathing accompanying the figure. Just as I felt that I could not lay still any longer, the shadow figure took one last deep breath and receded from the doorway, seeming to melt away into nothingness.

 

By this stage, a lot of kids would probably have cried out for their parents or, at the very least, thrown their covers over their heads. I did neither of those things. Instead, I laid there, pondering my new mystery of the night, Christmas forgotten, until I fell asleep. I remember asking both of my parents, the next day, whether they’d spent any time looking in on my brother and me the night before. They assured me, every time that I probed them about it, that they had not been anywhere near my bedroom the previous night. I guess, after a while, I just sort of shrugged it off. It didn’t happen again at all. Every now and then, the memory would spring to mind, especially during my night time ponderings. However, I thought about it less and less as time went on and, until I saw the pictureaccompanying the Wikipedia article on the Hat Man, I’d almost forgotten it completely. To this day, I have no idea what it was – whether it was one of my parents sleepwalking, somebody who wasn’t meant to be in the house, a supernatural being or otherwise… But the picture of the Hat Man is almost exactly what I remember in my doorway…

THE END

By Argyris Gerogiannis (B Class)

 

Their world was white. For as long as they could remember, the world had been white. Perfectly white snow was all around. Even when the snow had ceased falling from the sky, it was still cold. It was always cold. So cold that the snow wouldn’t melt, forever pilling up on the ground outside. For as long as they could remember, there had been snow on the ground.

“All is white,” said the girl, huddling by the fireplace. The boy put more wood in the fire, and came over to hug the girl.

“It’s just snowing again,” he said.

Sometimes the snowing would cease, and the white sky would become impossibly clear. But, even then, the world was white. He looked at the dwindling pile of wood.

“We need more wood,” he said. The girl gazed back at him hollowly.

“What about the pile of wood in the attic? We’ve been saving it since the last time it was snowing.”

“This is the last of it.” The fireplace filled the room with its last remnants of heat. The boy and the girl huddled together. Despite everything, they were happy. Yes, this white world was imperfect, but it was their place, and they were together.

The snow always started with an earthquake, and the last one had almost turned their home upside down. Neither could remember a time without earthquakes. The earthquakes were erratic, and came without warning. Around Christmas, they occurred almost daily, but at times they would go for months without one. Yet, even during these times, the world was white.

“I’m going outside to get more firewood,” said the boy.

“Do you have to get the wood now?” she asked. “What if there’s another earthquake; the snow has just barely stopped falling.”

“If I don’t go now, we won’t have enough wood for the next few months.” She kissed him, and made him promise to return to the cabin in one piece.

The boy trekked through the snow, his white footprints marking his way back to the cabin. Other than snow, the cabin was the only thing for miles. When he was in the forest, it seemed as if it did not matter which direction he walked, he could find his way back home. The forest itself was very sparse, just a few snow-covered pine trees for wood. At first, they had worried that the forest wouldn’t be enough, yet the small forest seemed to somehow replenish itself; new trees kept growing back whenever the boy returned for wood. His hands white from the cold, he grasped his hatchet and approached the tallest pine.

“BUT I WANT TO PLAY WITH IT AND MAKE IT SNOW AND YOU SAID I COULD!”

Without warning, the voice had appeared, knocking the boy backwards. He picked up his hatchet and got up from the ground. Turning, he looked around for the voice’s source. Surely, anything that loud would be seen. But he saw nothing but white. He wiped snow from his pant leg and tried to put the voice out of his mind. He had imagined the whole thing. Perhaps it was the cold. The couple had long given up on meeting anyone else out here in their cabin, there couldn’t possibly have been another person. Certainly not a person with such a loud voice.

He gathered the wood and put his hatchet back into his pocket. The ground shook. He grabbed a nearby tree to steady himself. As violent as they were, the earthquakes never lasted long. The worst part was afterward. The snow would fall and fall, impossible to avoid.

The boy had dropped his firewood, and, with difficulty, he attempted to gather it. The snow was blinding. Other than the cabin, there was nothing around for miles. He knew he had to get home. He had their only hatchet, and if he couldn’t get back to the cabin, then the girl would have no more firewood for the constant harsh winter. He slowed his breathing and gazed around him at the white. Each angle looked impossibly like the last. He gathered his nerves and decided to head off through the snow.

Ahead, he saw a clearing. In this clearing, it was not snowing. In this clearing, it was not white. Like the sky, it was impossibly clear. The boy ran towards the clearing, and as he neared it, he was pushed back. Some barrier, some invisible clear sheet was preventing him from making it to the clearing. The boy stood, and put his hands out toward the barrier. It was a sheet of cold glass. Clutching his hatchet, he approached the barrier, when he was knocked back again by the voice.

“HAHA-I WANT TO MAKE IT SNOW AGAIN! I LIKE THIS GAME!”

The boy again looked for the source of the voice, turning around for a sign of anyone nearby.“Hello,” he called out to the unending world of white. Receiving no response except an echo of his own voice, he turned back towards the barrier. What he saw made him fall back into the snow. A giant hand, large as the sky, was reaching towards the barrier. The hand grasped it, covering the barrier, and blotting out the white sky. Everything went dark. The boy cried out, as he felt the ground move. He slammed into the barrier from the force of the earthquake, desperately clutching for his already erased footprints. The snow attacked him from all sides, and his face was filled with cold. After a few minutes, all was still, and the boy turned to see the giant hand ascending once again into the sky.

“PUT DOWN THE SNOW GLOBE, DEAR,” he heard a loud voice scream.

 But this was different, an older voice, just as loud. Not knowing, not understanding, the boy picked himself up off the ground and grabbed his firewood. The snow was falling everywhere, and there was nowhere else to head but into the falling blanket of white.

 

By Dionysia Pelekouda-Oikonomou, Maria-Eleni Skiada, Michalis Skanavis and Iliana Mandouka (B Class)

 

Arkas is one of the most famous cartoonists in Greece. He has been making comics since the 80′s. His first creations was a series of comics called «o kokoras» that means the cock,  published by magazines like «Babel» and «Para pente» .One of the most famous comics he has created is «Isobitis» . The two main characters are a prisoner and a mouse. That comic has also been presented as a Muppet show in Greek television.  Lots of his creations has been translated on other languages such as French, German and Spanish. The last years he has also created two plays, one of which has been played at 2007 and the other one at 2011.The most interesting information about him is that nobody knows his real name. He used to call himself Arkas due to his origin, an area in Greece known as Arkadia. Although, sometimes was referred in some comics as Antonis Evdaimon or Gerasimos Spanodimitris but these are nicknames too.

Made by: Jim Gerogiannis
Inspired by: Karl Denke story

 

Holidays can be relaxing, fun, enjoyable but sometimes when it comes to picking the best destination to spend your holidays, unforeseen mistakes can be made. Sadly I wasn’t aware of the case that could even steal my precious pal’s life…

It was a cold misty morning when I decided to call my friend Edgar to tell him that after all this time of searching I had finally found a perfect place to go on holiday! But, we were just unlucky there! My dear Edgar is a guy who’s in love with sleeping and because of his obsession of sleeping we lost our flight and had to wait for the next one. Well when he woke up, I finally had the chance to put him in his place. He giggled like a kid and told me ‘’Relax Arthur! Some good sleep always helps before travelling, you should get some rest too or else I can imagine you sleeping while travelling and trust me you don’t want to miss all these picturesque sceneries this wonderful journey hides”. I looked at him with a strict look at my face and shouted at him “HOW DO YOU KNOW ABOUT THE JOURNEY WHEN YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW WHERE WE ARE HEADING FOR, SILLY! Anyway, you should be thankful for my goodness, we are going to visit the Honeyville Village, they say it’s the best location you can visit to get some rest – it’s going to be awesome, man!” Edgar stared at me with a considering look in his face, as if something was prohibiting him from going there. I immediately asked him what was going on but he would just say “Look, the airplane is coming, we shouldn’t miss this flight too! Right, pal?”

I wasn’t quite sure about his condition but there was no time to explain. The plane was coming so we both rushed, got on the plane and waited patiently for it to take off. When it finally took off I immediately started asking my friend for the reason he was acting strangely before. For once more, I was unlucky because he intentionally fell asleep, not paying attention to any of my words… I should normally feel outraged but I couldn’t ignore that look on his face then. I knew that the fact that we were visiting Honeyville had changed his disposal, as if something ill would happen there, and I could understand that this thing was torturing him in the duration of the whole journey. But why wouldn’t he express his feelings to his closest friend? He always knew that I was an open hug for him, if he only told me… This wouldn’t be the end for him.

With no hope of waking him up, I wore my headphones and listened to some classical music. Classical music relaxes me and it’s a good way to clear your mind from any other thoughts that can prevent you from making clear cogitations. After listening for some time, I suddenly fell asleep. While I was sleeping, I had a strange vision. I was dining when I suddenly screamed and committed suicide. I woke up with a terrible headache but that didn’t stop me from trying to interpret that vision. No matter how much I tried, I couldn’t do anything about it, when I heard my friend saying something in his sleep. «Run Arthur, run as fast as you can, they won’t catch you if you do so!» I slapped him and he woke up saying «WHAT ARE YOU DOING MAN, ARE YOU STUPID OR WHAT?!», then I knew that he was really asleep and what he had said was not something he made up to make me think he was asleep. I tried to explain to him but he would just keep calling me crazy. I was desperate and decided to remain silent until we would get there…

Time passed and we were getting closer and closer to our destination. Edgar still had that considering look on his face, but he wasn’t willing to accept any help from me so, for once more, I just remained silent. «Look! We are finally here» shouted Edgar. I looked outside and what I saw wasn’t what I hoped I would see… An old, abandoned city brilliantly lit by a full moon while fog rolled over the entire city. It was a really creepy picture for someone who hoped for some winter holidays, in a warm, small, and welcoming village which would be covered by snow, full of people’s smiles and laughter filling the atmosphere.
But instead of that, there was an ill atmosphere that someone could even think that it was related to hell… Edgar’s look was becoming more and more considering and his face was expressing some kind of pain. I knew that the pain’s source was this awful landscape. He grabbed my hand and shouted «WE ARE LEAVING NOW! PLEASE!», but by mistake I told him to relax and that we couldn’t leave because we had paid a lot for the tickets and tried to persuade him that holidays there would be awesome… Although I knew that there was something really wrong about this place…

I somehow managed to help him relax and change his mind about this place and together we began searching for our rented house there. The street’s name was Cannibell Street which was near the center of the town. After hours of searching we finally found Cannibell Street. We were surprised because of the contrast between the entire town and this Street. While the other part of the city was abandoned with no people living there, this Street was full of women and anybody could distinguish the vividness that filled the atmosphere! We were truly left speechless… Suddenly a woman walked next to us and said «Welcome to our city young travellers! Feel free to ask for anything. And always remember, don’t be shy, it is in our blood to help each other here!» Edgar cautiously asked her «Thanks for your kindness Madam! There’s one thing I’d really like to ask you if you feel like answering of course… Why is this the only place in the city where people actually live…? The whole other city is abandoned, could you please explain?» The woman started to cry and said «It’s a big story… Once there was a war, our men fought against a really furious race of creatures the werewolves. The battle lasted a long time and the result was our race’s victory but the loss of all of our men. So we, the survivors, decided to gather here in this place of the town which is the safest of all and spend our life here trying to make a living. The other parts of the city especially the houses are the graveyards of all the men that died in battle, these are sacred places that you should NEVER EVER visit if you want to remain safe. Well, forget about it and I hope you’ll have a nice stay here in Cannibell…» I grabbed her hand and said «Sorry but why shouldn’t we visit the graves of the men…?». Then she looked at me with an ill look on her face and said «Do so and may luck be with you young man.» Then she moved with a weak walking towards her house laughing satanically. We were both curious about her prohibition and decided to go to our house to get some rest after all these hours of journey and searching.

When we both went to sleep, Edgar whispered to me «Arthur I’m scared, I’m really scared.» I grabbed his hand and said «Don’t worry man there is nothing you will see, it will be a great holiday. People here are so kind and welcoming.» But that couldn’t help him relax. Then Edgar said «Isn’t it strange that only men died? Isn’t it strange that they say we should never ever visit the houses where their men rest… Ghosts don’t exist and that’s for sure what kind of judgement lies upon going there then! Maybe it’s for their personal reasons but, still, why do they prohibit us from going there that much? I seriously can’t understand and I’m really curious to discover it!» I looked at him, smiled and said «Oh, boy! You should become an explorer someday; your interest for the past and for facts is really astonishing! Good night, pal, get some sleep… You are professional at it!» We both laughed and fell asleep, but I knew that the night would be really long…

It was 3 at night when I woke up to drink some water because I was thirsty when I heard a scream… I was sure it was a man’s scream. I rushed to go outside and saw the woman carrying a huge black bag. I asked her what was going wrong and she said «Don’t you know? It’s the time when the spirits of the dead men remember their good times in life… They cry and scream in pain for their wasted lives and want to say goodnight to all of their women in this village, you will soon get used to it, Arthur, don’t worry! Oh, I forgot my name’s Alda!» I curiously asked her «How do you know my name?!» And she would just say «Say goodnight to Edgar too Arthur…» and as usually she would walk with this weak walking towards her house…

I decided to ignore what happened and went to bed for once more. Morning came and my mind was finally clear to make the correct thoughts. Edgar came up with the idea of exploring the city, which I really wanted to do too, so we prepared breakfast and started exploring the city. When we got out of the house it was still really early for the women to wake up, and the weather was freezing cold but nothing could stop us from exploring! Edgar was really excited about it, but I wasn’t still sure if exploring such a strange area was a good idea. We began with sightseeing, although we weren’t so sure if there actually were any sights! We were searching for hours but we didn’t find anything that looked like a sight or a historical building, and we were really curious about that. Edgar said «How could there be a war here and there isn’t even a small hint about the history of this place! Not even just a temple?! A sacred place of them… But… OH YEAH! I got it, I finally got it: their men’s houses must be something like a temple where the memories of their men are kept. Why wouldn’t they want us to know about their history, or visit these places? I’m going there at night; I’ve got to discover what lies in there! Do you wanna come, too, Arthur?» I looked at him and cautiously said «Man, I’m not sure about it, I think we should listen to the woman’s advice, she said that terrible fate will follow everyone who’s going there!» Then Edgar said with a persistent look «Do I look like I care about what this woman said?! I think she’s hiding some treasure or something precious in there that she doesn’t want us to find. Don’t be stupid Arthur we are going there at any cost, got me?» I slapped him and furiously said «Since when did you act so selfishly Edgar?! Don’t you listen to what I say? Don’t you care about what’s going to happen to both of us if we get there?!» He looked at me angrily and said «I don’t want you to come with me! Why would you slap me now, why would you talk to me with such a tone in your voice? I thought you were my pal… I thought you would follow me anywhere I would go… But I was wrong, farewell Arthur, see you later. I’m going to explore alone…» And that’s how it went, it was the last time I would see my friend Edgar… He was running away from me in order to lose sight of him! Later I understood that this mistake would be something I’d be regretting for the rest of my life… I screamed «COME BACK EDGAR, I’M SORRY!» But the distance between us was getting longer and longer. With no chance of getting him back, I returned to Cannibell disappointed.

When I got there, I was surprised because all of the women were dancing and singing together as if something great had happened. Suddenly a really beautiful, young woman grabbed my hand and happily said «Come with me, Arthur! We are having a feast here! We are known for the best meat in the entire country, come and taste it and, trust me, you won’t regret it!» I accepted because I was sure that a feast was the best way to forget about what had happened and have a good time! I sat on a chair and started devouring the meat like a beast. It was the best meat I had ever tasted, its taste was unique and every single mouthful was heavenly! Full of curiosity I said «This food… It’s so special; what kind of food is it? It must be really expensive; its taste is truly unique, I’d die for just one more dish of it! Then Alda responded «Lilith told you, didn’t she? We are known for the best meat… I can’t say what kind of meat it really is because it would reveal its uniqueness, wouldn’t it?» and as usually she walked towards her house with a weak walking. When she left, all the women stood up and said «Happy Menscan Miss Alda!» I asked them what was Menscan and then Lilith answered happily «Well Menscan is a social event of Cannibell dedicated to the men that died in war. We eat the best of our meat, drink wine and have a feast! You shouldn’t miss it, it only happens once per ten years, so as you understand it’s an opportunity of a lifetime!» I accepted and made an oath, after the feast I’d go searching for Edgar to return back home. But then I didn’t know that it would be too late…

It was night time when I suddenly heard a man’s scream. This scream was a bit familiar but deeply inside I knew that all people’s screams actually sound the same. I looked at the time, it was 3! I was shocked and started to believe in what Alda had said. But do ghosts exist then? I didn’t want to believe this at any cost so I rushed to bed! While I was sleeping I could hear the sound of some gaits in the room but I didn’t pay attention to them. That night without any doubt was the longest night in my life. I had been conquered by endless nightmares and worries about my Edgar and the only thing comforting me was tomorrow’s celebration…

Morning came and I could hear the women playing music merrily, the sun for the first time since I had come there was shining brightly, creating a completely different atmosphere than the other days! It was the perfect day to have a good time, but still the fact that my friend was lost made me really sad and worried, preventing me from having a good time. I wore my formal clothes and headed to the central plaza where the celebration was hosted.

When I got there I saw everyone eating and having a good time. I shouted «Am I late?» and Lilith answered «No, Arthur you arrived just in time for the main course! the best meat!» I couldn’t even wait for it… Even better meat than the previous, only the thought of eating it was killing me. I screamed impolitely «GIVE ME SOME OF THIS MEAT NOW!» I couldn’t control myself all the women were looking me with a furious look for my behaviour. I felt a dire need to taste that meat and the only way I could taste it was them, I was insane, I was acting like a hungry wolf looking for its prey. This wasn’t me… Later I’d pay this sin deadly. Alda said «Let him eat and drink as much as he wants but under one condition… You’ll stay here until the next Menscan comes; that means you will stay here for the next 10 years!» Without thinking I answered «I agree to the terms! Please… Don’t make me wait any longer, give me some of this meat!» Lilith grabbed a huge part of fresh flesh and gave it to me. I started devouring it without a second thought, this time its taste was different it was a lot more tasteful and I could feel my stomach filling, but I wouldn’t stop there! I would continue eating till I could feel contented. This flesh wasn’t ordinary, it was the most delicious thing I had ever tasted, it was even better than the previous one, eating it made me feel integrated. Suddenly I stopped eating and remembered that I should look for Edgar, when I saw a note in the pocket of my trousers. I curiously took it out and started reading…

Dear Arthur,

It indeed wasn’t a good idea to spend holidays here. Something really wrong is going on with this ill place, both of us knew that but now I’m sure… I went ahead to explore the houses where the men rest, there were no graves or anything sacred… There were just hung corpses of men which seemed to be chopped at several places, butcher knives all over the place… At first I thought it was just a vision but when I went deeper in the house I saw an old fridge where there is people’s flesh inside. I was freaked out… These women aren’t ordinary, their men didn’t die at war, they just devoured their men, we are talking about cannibals! At last I discovered what the punishment for those who go there is… doom… They are still chasing me, run away Arthur, they won’t catch you if you do so! But not even the fastest can escape doom… They caught me, they are chopping me furiously laughing and dancing around me… Singing… My name’s not Edgar anymore… I’m the new flesh… I’m sorry Arthur, I want you to know that I’ve always loved you and cared about you, I didn’t mean that you aren’t my best friend or anything like that, it was a mistake to fight with you… Hope that you will forgive me someday. Right now I live in you Arthur, we are together, you have just eaten my flesh…

I stood up weakly, looked at the sky, shed a tear, grabbed a kitchen knife and in front of all the women stabbed myself until the last breath…

I’m sorry Edgar, really sorry for killing you… If only I wasn’t mistaken about the destination. I miss you… My soul has been travelling for decades in many different dimensions, searching for yours. Where are you buddy? You said we’d be together! I see a ray of light between the endless void. I scream «EDGAR IS THAT YOU?!» But nobody responds… The ray of light gets covered by the endless void, and as it gets covered, my hope disappears with all of my dreams… And a weak voice is echoing «I’m sorry buddy…»

THE END

 

 

By Argyris Gerogiannis (A Class)

Every single one of us has experienced the miracle of a new “imaginary” friend, during our youth. I, personally, was never amazed by that event, and assumed it as a normal part of the process until you finally enter adulthood, and realize how the world actually is. When I first heard my son, calling me to meet his new “friend”, I wasn’t surprised at all and gladly accepted that fact. As I walked towards the garden, this reminded me my own childhood. Sweet and sour memories started twisting in my head, as I remembered how great it was to be a kid. However, while I was travelling through my mind portal, I encountered a single memory, that has been engraved to the depths of my soul. A memory that bitter, that no matter how much I had tried, no matter what I did, I wasn’t able to forget that day…

During my childhood my family was like a drop of water in a vast river, never remaining in one location for long. We settled in England when I was eight, and there we remained until I went to college in London. Most of my memories are rooted in Warwickshire, but there are fragments in the attic of my brain which belong to the various homes we had lived in when I was much younger.  Most of these memories are unclear and pointless – chasing after another boy in the back yard of a house in North Carolina, trying to build a raft to float on the creek behind the apartment we rented in England, and so on. But there is one set of memories which remains as clear as glass, as though they were just made yesterday. I often wonder whether these memories are simply lucid dreams produced by the long sickness I experienced that spring, but in my heart, I know they are real. We were living in a house outside the metropolis in a town near Pennsylvania. It was such a large structure, especially for a family of three, that I wasn’t able to see a number of rooms when we resided there, the first five months. In some ways it was indeed a waste of space, but it was the only house on the market at the time.

The day after my sixth birthday, which was attended my parents alone, I came down with a horrible headache and with an unstopping cough. My mother saw that I had a fever, as my cheeks were bright red, and I was nearly dead with fatigue, she decided to get a doctor to see me. I was finally diagnosed with mononucleosis, which meant no rough play and more fever for at least three weeks. It was horrible timing to be bed-ridden– we were in the process of packing our things to move to England, and most of my things were already packed away in boxes, leaving my room barren. My mother brought me ginger ale and books several times a day, and these served the function of being my primary form of entertainment for the next few weeks. Boredom always loomed just around the corner, waiting to rear its ugly head and compound my misery. One day, I decided to move out of bed and explore the house a little, even though that meant disobeying the doctor’s and my mother’s orders, and went walked to the “abandoned” rooms, as I used to call them. I tried opening every single one of them, but unfortunately they were all locked, except one. One room that changed my life as a child, and still haunts me as an adult.

When I entered the old room, I saw it empty. It had no furniture, no carpets, no portraits-a bit unlikely, because the whole house had-, only a bizarre wooden box sitting at the center of the room, right under the chandelier, that it had. My eyes widened in awe, I ran towards the box and I stared at the colorful, hand crafted box, wondering it got there. Mother always told me not to touch things that do not belong to me, especially those whose owner is unidentified. As a young kid, I couldn’t really understand what she meant, so I picked up the box with both of my hand. The box was beautifully painted with colorful styles, with carvings of happy clown faces on the sides. On the top of the box there was a carved text. I squinted my eyes as I sounded out the words “L-laughin-g-J-jack-in-a-b-box” I paused, “Laughing Jack-in-a-box?” I had seen many jack-in-a-box toys, but never about a Laughing-Jack-in-a-box toy. My mind spun with curiosity as I winded the box, by grasping its metal crank. When I finished tuning the crank, the song “Pop Goes the Weasel” chimed in rhythm with the crank’s gyrations. I remember my mom singing it to me when I was a baby so I would sleep, it’s a traditional English song too! As the song came to its climax, I sang along the final verse. Then it stopped. I was waiting for the clown to pop-out, but nothing happened. I felt pretty disappointed and even more ill, as I thought I got tired for nothing and decided to get back to bed.  Suddenly, I heard a loud rattling noise coming from behind me. I spun around and witnessed the wooden box violently shaking. I was a bit scared, also curious and continued to watch. Then without warning, the top of the box swung open and a parade of colorful smoke and confetti bellowed out. I rubbed my eyes in disbelief of what I was seeing. As the smoke cleared, there stood a tall, thin, multicolored clown man, with bright red hair, a swirly, rainbow colored cone nose, and feathery shoulders that sat atop his raggedy and colorful clown outfit. However he had something so horrific, something so terrifying, that made me keep me distance from that stranger. His face is what I cannot forget even now… He, with his two huge black, hollow eyes and with his wide smile, with those sharp teeth, was  looking directly at me, making  me feel numb, as I couldn’t move nor speak.

The Technicolor Clown spread his arms and excitedly announced : “ COME ONE! COME ALL! WHETHER BIG OR SMALL! TO SEE THE BEST CLOWN OF THE WORLD! THE ONE! THE ONLY!DEEDLY DOO!!!!”.
My eyes lit up, as I was looking the mysterious clown, “W-who are you?” I asked with fear.
The colorful carnie came closer and answered with a grin “ I am glad you asked! I am called Deedly Doo… and I am sure you are wondering what I am doing here…. So I am going to tell you one thing! Let’s be friends!”
I smiled back and said “Sure!”

I was pretty naive back then, I was a young happy boy that thought there was no such thing as evil in this world, so when I saw Deedly Doo smiling I thought he was not bad. My mother was always chary when I came across strangers, though  when I told her about Deed, as I used to call him, it looked as if she believed me and acted as normal as always. I am not sure whether she thought he was imaginary or not, but it was pretty weird for my mother not to make sure with who I was hanging around. I remember Deedly Doo disappearing every time my mother stopped by to check in on me. “I lay under your bed,” he later explained. “I don’t want your parents to see me because I’m afraid they won’t let us play anymore.” We didn’t do much during those first few days. Deed, just looked at my books, fascinated by the stories and pictures they contained. The third or fourth morning after I met him, he greeted me with a large smile on his face. “I have a new game we can play,” he said. “We have to wait until after your mother comes to check on you, because she can’t see us play it. It’s a secret game.”

My mother came and as usual, left some more books and snacks, but also asked “How is it going with your new buddy?”

I looked at her feeling a little anxious and replied “Ummm… Fine I guess! He and I will be playing soon enough!”

She smiled widely and left the room. Then Deed slipped out of the bed and frowned “You shouldn’t have told her that we are going to play! I told you! It’s a SECRET GAME!”

I startled a bit and said “Sorry Deed…I was just… too… Excited!” and smiled back at him.

Then he slowly came a little closer and let out a whimsical laugh “Haha! Alright kiddo! It’s great to know that! Now… FOLLOW ME!”

Deed grabbed my hand and started running with great speed to the “abandoned” rooms. I really wondered why he brought me there, as I started feeling weirdly when we reached one of the doors.  Deed smiled widely, and showed me the lock. I told him that it was firmly shut and we couldn’t get in. Then he giggled and enlarged one of his sharp nails, unlocking the door.  The room in question had no furniture or wallpaper. Its only distinguishing feature was a window opposite the doorway. Deedly Doo darted across the room and gave the window a firm push, flinging it open. He then beckoned me to look out at the ground below. We were on the second story of the house, but it was on a hill, and from this angle the drop was farther than two stories due to the incline.

“I like to play pretend up here,” Deed explained. “I pretend that there is a big, soft trampoline below this window, and I jump. If you pretend hard enough you bounce back up like a feather. I want you to try.”

I was a six-year-old with a fever, so only a hint of skepticism darted through my thoughts as I looked down and considered the possibility. “It’s a long drop,” I said.

“But that’s all a part of the fun. It wouldn’t be fun if it was only a short drop. If it were that way you may as well just bounce on a real trampoline.”

I toyed with the idea, picturing myself falling through thin air only to bounce back to the window on something unseen by human eyes. But the realist in me prevailed. “Maybe some other time,” I said. “I don’t know if I have enough imagination. I could get hurt.”

Deed’s face contorted into a furious gaze, but only for a moment. Anger gave way to disappointment. “If you say so,” he said. He spent the rest of the day under my bed, quiet.

The next morning when the sun rose, I was hit by the sunlight and woke up, so Deed jumped in front of my bed holding some candy. It had a really colorful packing. I had never seen anything like that before and I really wanted to try it out!

“Hehe. Sorry for yesterday… I hope you enjoy this candy as a gift from me!” Deed said with a sorry look on his face.

“You bet!” I smiled back at him.

I instantly grabbed the candy, ready to check it out, but when I was about to remove the packing, I heard  a knock from the door. Deed  quickly hid underneath the bed, and mother entered the room. She brought me breakfast and some comics to read. However, she took notice of the candy that Deed  gave me, and asked “What is that ?”

I didn’t know what to say! I opened my mouth and weakly cried  “I-it’s something that-t.. Jack gave me…”

Then she looked at me strictly, grabbed that candy out of my hand and threw it in the dumpster. After that, she exited the room. Deed quickly came out of the bed  and looked at me with an even uglier, twisted, angry look than the last time he was mad at me. I could see that he was baring his teeth and his hateful eyes stared at me as if he was going to attack.

I was horrified and screamed “ HELP!”

Then right in front of my eyes I saw Deedly Doo’s colors fading. He became completely monochrome, his mangled black hair hung down in twisted locks, sharp jagged teeth decorated his twisted grin, and his arms hung down like a ragdoll with his grotesquely long fingers nearly scraping the floor. I jumped out of my bed and left the room, as I could hear his laugh ringing in my ears. I ran as fast as I could to the kitchen. Suddenly, I tripped and fell down.  I thought it was all over… I closed my eyes tightly and waited. Then I heard Deed’s laughter coming close and closer. I opened my eyes and saw him laughing hysterically.

“HAHA! I GOT YOU!” he said laughing.

I was really confused about what was going on and did not say a word to Deed.
“It’s alright!” he said, “I won’t hurt you, silly!” he laughed.

I looked back at him speechless. I was mad, and Deed could see that too. I didn’t say a word and went back to bed. I started having trouble sleeping after that. Deedly Doo often woke me up at night, saying he put a real trampoline under the window, a big one, one that I couldn’t see in the dark. I always declined and tried to go back to sleep, but Deed persisted. Sometimes he stayed by my side until early in the morning, encouraging me to jump. He wasn’t so fun to play with anymore. My mother came to me one morning and told me I had her permission to walk around outside. She thought the fresh air would be good for me, especially after being confined to my room for so long. Ecstatic, I put on my sneakers and trotted out to the back porch, yearning for the feeling of sun on my face.

Deed was waiting for me that day outside, “I want to show you something” he said “I promise,  it’s safe…”

I followed Deed to the beginning of a trail which ran through some woods behind the house. “This is a pretty special path you know…” he said “ I  had many other  friends  about your age you know.., with which, I have gone down this path to a special place. You are not ready yet ,but I hope one day I’ll take you there!”

I returned to the house wondering what lay ahead that path. The day after we were going to move to England and almost all of our things were packed into the truck, and I considered not to tell Deed what we will be doing , but even at six years old, I knew that those clown’s intentions weren’t for my benefit. For this reason I kept my departure a secret. The next day we woke up pretty early and when we made sure everything was loaded in the truck we began our journey to our new home.  I looked back to my old house and I could make out Deed’s figure waving with a huge evil smile on his face behind the window. Then I remembered about the trail, and asked if he knew anything. I gasped on my own spit when told me that in the center of the forest there was a cemetery…

Back to present day, I still can’t forget my experience with Deedly Doo… I’ve tried numerous of times, but never succeed… However I always told myself that he can’t be real, not only because I haven’t seen him ever since, but also because  of the sickness  that I had. I was maybe hallucinating. Who knows?  I decided to move to the garden to see how my son was doing, and froze upon seeing what he held in his hand. I felt the cold sweat running down my spine, as my arms and legs start feeling numb. What my son held was a colorful package candy….

By Argyris Gerogiannis (A Class)

There was a hunter in the woods, who, after a long day hunting, was in the middle of an immense forest. It was getting dark, and having lost his bearings, he decided to head in one direction until he was clear of the increasingly oppressive foliage. After what seemed like hours, he came across a cabin in a small clearing. Realizing how dark it had grown, he decided to see if he could stay there for the night. He approached and found the door ajar. Nobody was inside. The hunter flopped down on the single bed, deciding to explain himself to the owner in the morning. As he looked around, he was surprised to see the walls adorned by many portraits, all painted in incredible detail. Without exception, they appeared to be staring down at him, their features twisted into looks of hatred. Staring back, he grew increasingly uncomfortable. Making a concerted effort to ignore the many hateful faces, he turned face to face the wall, and exhausted, he fell into a restless sleep. Face down in an unfamiliar bed, he turned blinking in unexpected sunlight. Looking up, he discovered that the cabin had no portraits, only windows.

 

Students: Papavasiliou Panagiotis, Papandreou Annita,   Papasimakopoulou Archontoula, Skoura Irene, Siganou Athanasia, Christodouli Dimitra (B’2)

“She said that she would dance with me if I brought her red roses,” cried the young Student; “but in all my garden there is no red rose.”

     From her nest in the holm-oak tree the Nightingale heard him, and she looked out through the leaves, and wondered.

     “No red rose in all my garden!” he cried, and his beautiful eyes filled with tears. “Ah, on what little things does happiness depend! I have read all that the wise men have written, and all the secrets of philosophy are mine, yet for want of a red rose is my life made wretched.”

     “Here at last is a true lover,” said the Nightingale. “Night after night have I sung of him, though I knew him not: night after night have I told his story to the stars, and now I see him. His hair is dark as the hyacinth-blossom, and his lips are red as the rose of his desire; but passion has made his lace like pale Ivory, and sorrow has set her seal upon his brow.”

     “The Prince gives a ball to-morrow night,” murmured the young Student, “and my love will be of the company. If I bring her a red rose she will dance with me till dawn. If I bring her a red rose, I shall hold her in my arms, and she will lean her head upon my shoulder, and her hand will be clasped in mine. But there is no red rose in my garden, so I shall sit lonely, and she will pass me by. She will have no heed of me, and my heart will break.”

     “Here indeed is the true lover,” said the Nightingale. “What I sing of he suffers: what is joy to me, to him is pain. Surely Love is a wonderful thing. It is more precious than emeralds, and dearer than fine opals. Pearls and pomegranates cannot buy it, nor is it set forth in the market-place. it may not be purchased of the merchants, “or can it be weighed out in the balance for gold.”

     “The musicians will sit in their gallery,” said the young Student, “and play upon their stringed instruments, and my love will dance to the sound of the harp and the violin. She will dance so lightly that her feet will not touch the floor, and the courtiers in their gay dresses will throng round her. But with me she will not dance, for I have no red rose to give her;” and he flung himself down on the grass, and buried his face in his hands, and wept.

     “Why is he weeping?” asked a little Green Lizard, as he ran past him with his tail in the air.

     “Why, indeed?” said a Butterfly, who was fluttering about after a sunbeam.

     “Why, indeed?” whispered a Daisy to his neighbour, in a soft, low voice.

     “He is weeping for a red rose,” said the Nightingale.

     “For a red rose!” they cried; “how very ridiculous!” and the little Lizard, who was something of a cynic, laughed outright.

     But the Nightingale understood the secret of the Student’s sorrow, and she sat silent in the oak-tree, and thought about the mystery of Love.

     Suddenly she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air. She passed through the grove like a shadow, and like a shadow she sailed across the garden.

     In the centre of the grass-plot was standing a beautiful Rose-tree, and when she saw it, she flew over to it, and lit upon a spray.

     “Give me a red rose,” she cried, “and I will sing you my sweetest song.”

     But the Tree shook its head.

     “My roses are white,” it answered; “as white as the foam of the sea, and whiter than the snow upon the mountain. But go to my brother who grows round the old sun-dial, and perhaps he will give you what you want.”

     So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing round the old sun-dial.

     “Give me a red rose,” she cried, “and I will sing you my sweetest song.”

     But the Tree shook its head.

     “My roses are yellow,” it answered; “as yellow as the hair of the mermaiden who sits upon an amber throne, and yellower than the daffodil that blooms in the meadow before the mower comes with his scythe. But go to my brother who grows beneath the Student’s window, and perhaps he will give you what you want.”

     So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing beneath the Student’s window.

     “Give me a red rose,” she cried, “and I will sing you my sweetest song.”

     But the Tree shook its head.

     “My roses are red,” it answered, “as red as the feet of the dove, and redder than the great fans of coral that wave and wave in the ocean-cavern. But the winter has chilled my veins, and the frost has nipped my buds, and the storm has broken my branches, and I shall have no roses at all this year.”

    “One red rose is all I want,” cried the Nightingale, “only one red rose! Is there no way by which I can get it?”

     “There is a way,” answered the Tree; “but it is so terrible that I dare not tell it to you.”

     “Tell it to me,” said the Nightingale, “I am not afraid.”

     “If you want a red rose,” said the Tree, “you must build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with your own heart’s-blood. You must sing to me with your breast against a thorn. All night long you must sing to me, and the thorn must pierce your heart, and your life-blood must flow into my veins, and become mine.”

     “Death is a great price to pay for a red rose,” cried the Nightingale, “and Life is very dear to all. It is pleasant to sit in the green wood, and to watch the Sun in his chariot of gold, and the Moon in her chariot of pearl. Sweet is the scent of the hawthorn, and sweet are the bluebells that hide in the valley, and the heather that blows on the hill. Yet Love is better than Life, and what is the heart of a bird compared to the heart of a man?”

     So she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air. She swept over the garden like a shadow, and like a shadow she sailed through the grove.

     The young Student was still lying on the grass, where she had left him, and the tears were not yet dry in his beautiful eyes.

     “Be happy,” cried the Nightingale, “be happy; you shall have your red rose. I will build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with my own heart’s-blood. All that I ask of you in return is that you will be a true lover, for Love is wiser than Philosophy, though she is wise, and mightier than Power, though he is mighty. Flame-coloured are his wings, and coloured like flame is his body. His lips are sweet as honey, and his breath is like frankincense.”

     The Student looked up from the grass, and listened, but he could not understand what the Nightingale was saying to him, for he only knew the things that are written down in books.

     But the Oak-tree understood, and felt sad, for he was very fond of the little Nightingale who had built her nest in his branches.

     “Sing me one last song,” he whispered; “I shall feel very lonely when you are gone.”

     So the Nightingale sang to the Oak-tree, and her voice was like water bubbling from a silver jar.

     When she had finished her song the Student got lip, and pulled a note-book and a lead-pencil out of his pocket.

     “She has form,” he said to himself, as he walked away through the grove – “that cannot be denied to her; but has she got feeling? I am afraid not. In fact, she is like most artists; she is all style, without any sincerity. She would not sacrifice herself for others. She thinks merely of music, and everybody knows that the arts are selfish. Still, it must be admitted that she has some beautiful notes in her voice. What a pity it is that they do not mean anything, or do any practical good.” And he went into his room, and lay down on his little pallet-bed, and began to think of his love; and, after a time, he fell asleep.

     And when the Moon shone in the heavens the Nightingale flew to the Rose-tree, and set her breast against the thorn. All night long she sang with her breast against the thorn, and the cold crystal Moon leaned down and listened. All night long she sang, and the thorn went deeper and deeper into her breast, and her life-blood ebbed away from her.

     She sang first of the birth of love in the heart of a boy and a girl. And on the topmost spray of the Rose-tree there blossomed a marvellous rose, petal following petal, as song followed song. Yale was it, at first, as the mist that hangs over the river – pale as the feet of the morning, and silver as the wings of the dawn. As the shadow of a rose in a mirror of silver, as the shadow of a rose in a water-pool, so was the rose that blossomed on the topmost spray of the Tree.

     But the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn. “Press closer, little Nightingale,” cried the Tree, “or the Day will come before the rose is finished.”

     So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and louder and louder grew her song, for she sang of the birth of passion in the soul of a man and a maid.

     And a delicate flush of pink came into the leaves of the rose, like the flush in the face of the bridegroom when he kisses the lips of the bride. But the thorn had not yet reached her heart, so the rose’s heart remained white, for only a Nightingale’s heart’s-blood can crimson the heart of a rose.

     And the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn. “Press closer, little Nightingale,” cried the Tree, “or the Day will come before the rose is finished.”

     So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and the thorn touched her heart, and a fierce pang of pain shot through her. Bitter, bitter was the pain, and wilder and wilder grew her song, for she sang of the Love that is perfected by Death, of the Love that dies not in the tomb.

     And the marvellous rose became crimson, like the rose of the eastern sky. Crimson was the girdle of petals, and crimson as a ruby was the heart.

     But the Nightingale’s voice grew fainter, and her little wings began to beat, and a film came over her eyes. Fainter and fainter grew her song, and she felt something choking her in her throat.

     Then she gave one last burst of music. The white Moon heard it, and she forgot the dawn, and lingered on in the sky. The red rose heard it, and it trembled all over with ecstasy, and opened its petals to the cold morning air. Echo bore it to her purple cavern in the hills, and woke the sleeping shepherds from their dreams. It floated through the reeds of the river, and they carried its message to the sea.

     “Look, look!” cried the Tree, “the rose is finished now;” but the Nightingale made no answer, for she was lying dead in the long grass, with the thorn in her heart.

     And at noon the Student opened his window and looked out.

     “Why, what a wonderful piece of luck! he cried; “here is a red rose! I have never seen any rose like it in all my life. It is so beautiful that I am sure it has a long Latin name;” and he leaned down and plucked it.

     Then he put on his hat, and ran up to the Professor’s house with the rose in his hand.

     The daughter of the Professor was sitting in the doorway winding blue silk on a reel, and her little dog was lying at her feet.

 

OSCAR WILDE’S ENDING

     “You said that you would dance with me if I brought you a red rose,” cried the Student. Here is the reddest rose in all the world. You will wear it to-night next your heart, and as we dance together it will tell you how I love you.”

     But the girl frowned.

     “I am afraid it will not go with my dress,” she answered; “and, besides, the Chamberlain’s nephew has sent me some real jewels, and everybody knows that jewels cost far more than flowers.”

     “Well, upon my word, you are very ungrateful,” said the Student angrily; and he threw the rose into the street, where it fell into the gutter, and a cart-wheel went over it.

     “Ungrateful!” said the girl. “I tell you what, you are very rude; and, after all, who are you? Only a Student. Why, I don’t believe you have even got silver buckles to your shoes as the Chamberlain’s nephew has;” and she got up from her chair and went into the house.

     “What a silly thing Love is,” said the Student as he walked away. “It is not half as useful as Logic, for it does not prove anything, and it is always telling one of things that are not going to happen, and making one believe things that are not true. In fact, it is quite unpractical, and, as in this age to be practical is everything, I shall go back to Philosophy and study Metaphysics.”

     So he returned to his room and pulled out a great dusty book, and began to read.

 

 OUR ENDING

Student stopped short in the middle of the road, looking at her with admiration.

Suddenly, appearing from nowhere a car stroke the Student. Student fell down.

Professor’s daughter screamed. She ran immediately and kneeled on her knees besides him, ignoring her beautiful dress.

“Here is the reddest rose in all the world”, Student managed to whisper and he left his last breath.

“No”, cried the daughter. “Death is a great price to pay for a red rose. I want you back desperately. As despairingly as a blind looks for his light, and more despairingly than the howlet, which searches after his lost brother. I don’t want this” said the daughter and threw the rose into the street. Rose was wet from the tears of the daughter and from Student’s blood.

“What a beautiful red rose” said a twelve-year-old girl as she ran past it. “I know where the best place for it is. I will put it on the body of a dead bird I saw in a garden. Poor bird! It must have died from cold”

And she put the red rose on the body of the Nightingale.

“What a silly thing love is” said the little Lizard, who was something of a cynic.

“It needs blood, sacrifice and tears”.