I was supposed to write a story about a squirrel. His name was Jeff. He had no house or wife. He had no fancy job. He, in fact, didn’t even know that his name was Jeff. He was a squirrel like any other.

Mary wanted to give Jim the greatest gift he had ever received. Jim was one of the least material people she had ever met, so finding a great gift would be a difficult task. For people like Jim, the gift needs to be truly special, not just something you can buy at the store or online. She decided that making the gift was the only way. She enrolled at a local woodshop so she could fabricate her grand idea. First she started with the walls, cutting four equilateral shapes of wood. The corners were mitered for perfect alignment and easy assembly. The floor would be a similar shape, also mitered all around its edges, so that the walls would sit nicely on top. The top most shape would be identical to the floor. The piece would be called the lid. Mary glued the mitered edges of the shapes and assembled them into a perfect cube. When the cube had dried, she painted the box in an equal mix of two colors. Homogenously mixed so that she would apply the two colors simultaneously and always in equal amounts. The mixture was half pitch black, the darkest black available to humankind, and half ultra-clear, the clearest clear available to human kind. This would allow the box to be completely imperceptible to the human eye. After the paint and glue on the box had completely dried, she completed the final step. A yellow rod was inserted into the direct center of the box. It was cylindrical in shape and yellow, about 3/4 the height of the box itself so that it didn’t touch the top of the box, but still displayed comparable height. The rod glowed yellow with a majesty hard to properly imagine. Mary gifted the box to Jim and he was rendered speechless. Never in his life had Jim received a gift like this one before. He loved the gift so much that he based the entirety of the remainder of his life around the cube, building a following of thousands who shared a similar devotion to the object.

Windows shake, doors break, powerlines sway with the wind. The cars are loud, but barely noticeable. The dullest of the urban environment ripples across the streets as a strong wind barrels through a field of grain. Only to be replaced with an odd immediacy as patrons begin to enlist in their daily treks, washing away the dull. Replaced with a strong urgency yet seemingly singing to an encompassing lackadaisical melody.

The man stares up at you from the street. His face is dark and unable to be read. You have just awaken and this is the first encounter of your morning. He stands there unwavering, as if he has been peering up in the same regard through the entirety of the night.

“GAHHH” exclaimed the worm. “GAHHHHH”. The worm was upset. For years, the worm had been put to work doing all sorts of tasks for the other worms. He would carry their dirt, he would feed them lunch, he would take their notes, and complete most other tasks difficult for a worm to do. “GWAHWHH”. The worm was the only one in his colony with hands. This made him a very effective asset. “GHHHHAAAAHHH” said the worm. He had no time to focus on his passion for Jeopardy trivia because he was consistently working for others. He wanted nothing more than to study for Jeopardy. After doing his colony’s laundry one day, he knew what he needed to do. He gathered up the two of the other members of the colony and played an episode of Jeopardy for them. They loved it! They had never seen a TV before. They asked him “can you change the channel?”. He responded “GHHHGGAJHH”. The worm was mute.

Once, upon a time, lived an elf. The elf was quite happy on his time. Although his time was quite short, so was the elf. He fit perfectly. Although he lived on this time, he was never on time. He had a wonderful power that allowed him to float just above the surface, never stepping foot on time. Doing this, he was able to move throughout time. He spent his time wisely, mostly on berries and tea. He had more than enough time to keep his time in good shape. Regardless of his position, he vowed to never change his time. He liked it more than enough the way it was. Surprisingly, the elf had never gotten out of time. It wasn’t that he was stuck in time, he just couldn’t think of anything thing to do past time. One day, he decided to run out of time. He kept going and going and going until he left time far behind. He stayed ahead of time for quite a while. For so long in fact, that time began to go still. The elf couldn’t stand to hear about time in this state. He planned up an idea to go and save time. He spent all his time on a trip back into time. Unfortunately, with no time left to spend, it was quite difficult for the elf to do anything in his time. In this story, time is money. Time is also the elf’s homeland.

There is a boy. Some say he is the kindest boy on his side of the globe. He works all day helping others, and spends and night volunteering to help others more. He gives away everything he has, both knowledge and possessions, to those who need it more. The boy does not miss a single thank you, and is always eager to say hello. Every parent on his side of the globe want their sons to be like this boy. They have their sons study the boy and take notes on everything that he does. This leads to the boy amassing a large following that joins him on his daily life. The boy welcomes this group with open arms, thinking that his following will help him greatly increase his daily output of niceties to the world. The group of sons rather, follow him from a distance, their noses deep in the books in which they record his every action. They watch him go from neighbor to neighbor, offering his kindness to help fix problems that are not his. The sons document this rapidly, takin the most detailed notes on how to employ this in their own life to appease their mothers and becomes loved by their neighbors. They study this boy at the soup kitchen, where volunteers are sparse and diners are a plenty. They study him on the street, where the boy gifts the homeless his earnings. “How many coins did the boy give that man?” one son asks another. “I’ll take a note of that” he decides. The boy eventually dies from a rare sickness. The sons, with nothing left to document, go home to grieve the death of the wonderful boy and show their proud mothers all of their notes. Their mothers were as pleased as could be.