My name is Danielle, and this is my new website. You might be here because you came from my old blog that I left alone for over 3 years. First of all, sorry to all of the people who followed me back then. I just got so busy.

Second of all, I’ll be using this site as a portfolio. I will be showcasing all of the art and writing I have done over the years.

And lastly, thank you for visiting my site. Please leave your comments.

Finished Chapter

I was going to upload the pictures I took of the animal sanctuary I want to during my two-week trip to Lee, but then I finished the fourth chapter of “Dark Red Riding Hood”, and I really want to show it here. I posted it on my DeviantArt, and later, I’ll update the page on the blog. For now, enjoy the newest chapter of “Dark Red Riding Hood”.

Chapter 4: The Huntress

Little Red Riding Hood. Notorious huntress-thief for the feared crime boss, Woody Lumberjack, also known as the Woodsman. Never in my young life did I think that would be my identity. In fact, when I was a little girl, I wanted to be an adventurer; traveling to far and exotic places. My grandfather used to be an adventurer before meeting my grandmother. I doubt they would be proud of me, seeing what their precious granddaughter have become. I didn’t blame them if they’re disappointed in me; I was disappointed in me.

Allow me to explain what my job was as a huntress-thief. You see, “huntress”, or “hunter”, were just another word for assassin. We hunt down persons and then eliminate them, hence why we are called “hunters” or “huntresses”. There were different kinds of hunters and huntresses; those whose jobs where more than just assassinating. For example, hunter-runners or huntress-runners were assassins who worked in the drug smuggling business. Hunter-eyes or huntress-eyes were assassins who doubled as detectives. There were the royal hunters and huntresses who worked for the sovereignty. Then there were the hunter-thieves and huntress-thieves like me. Our jobs were to not only eliminate targets, but to also steal from targets. Just last year, I was ordered to steal a prized piece of artwork from the home of a wealthy art dealer.

I had just exited the Woodsman’s hideout and was making my way through the busy streets of Gemstone. The sun was high in the sky and the gentle breeze flew through what leaves where left on the sturdy oak trees that lined the streets of the city. As I walked, I noticed the sidewalks glimmering with a blue sparkle; it was as if the sidewalks were made from real sapphires, and not artificial gems that looked like real ones.

I passed by clothing stores, delis, flower shops, and other small family-owned businesses. I walked pass one of the city’s public libraries, it’s marble columns glistening in the sunlight. The many apartment buildings towered over me, their glass windows reflecting the sun’s light. I had to look away by the time I reached the elementary school; the sight of happy children playing reminded me too much of my own childhood. I turned a corner and walked into a dark alley. At the end of the alley, was my destination: the abandoned train station on the outskirts of the city.

The station was built about seven hundred years ago, I think. It was built near the base of the gray, snowy-topped mountains that stood towering over the city of Gemstone. It was a modest, two-story building that was the length of a modern house. It’s once brilliant and vivid blue painted exterior was now a moldy, dark green. It’s brown, tilted roof was so worn that holes began to appear. Its windows were shattered, their shutters broken in halves. The benches that sat on the front porch were all broken in the center, which made sitting on them nigh impossible. The door that led to the inside was just barely attached to the doorframe; it was hanging on its side, freely swinging. Not too far away from the door, attached to the overhanging roof, was a sign that still displayed the train schedule. In front of the station was the train rail that was abandoned along with the station; it was now covered in tall grass and wildflowers.

I stepped onto the porch, which creaked and groaned under my feet. Carefully, I opened the door and entered the dilapidated train station. The wallpapered interior was just as worn-down as the exterior. Four long wooden benches, all of which were coated in dust, sat in the center of the small station. A small window was built into the wall opposite me. The glass of the window was cracked and looked as if it was about to fall out of the frame. The room behind the creaked window used to be the ticket office, but now, it was mostly a home for field mice, raccoons, or some other wild animal. I made my way to the back of the station, where a narrow hallway led to the back of the station, where the lockers were. I was surprised, but somewhat grateful, to find the door to the back porch still attached to the doorframe and still in one piece.

I pushed opened the door and stepped out onto the back porch. There was a lone bench that faced a meadow filled with flowers of many species. In the distant, I could make out a shape hidden among the grass and flowers. The shape lifted its head and I saw that it was a unicorn. Seeing a unicorn in the wild wasn’t uncommon, that was, if you lived in the countryside. Creatures like unicorns made it a point to steer away from largely populated areas. I briefly wondered why I hadn’t recognized the animal the second I saw it. Then I saw that, unlike most unicorns, that were pure white, this unicorn was gray. It’s coat, mane, tail, and even horn was gray, making it blend in well with the surrounding area. For a moment, I envied the beautiful creature and wished I could just blend in, not stick out, be like everyone else. I snapped myself out of my trance and tore my eyes away from the animal. By the time I looked back, the unicorn was gone.

I turned my attention to the lockers, which sat beside the lone bench. The metal of the lockers was rusted due to years of being left in the rain and snow. The lockers were rectangular containers, stacked on top of each other, forming a six-by-two grid. Each locker had a lock, which could only be open with you had the right key. Lucky for me, I was given the right key. I approached the locker that was on the lowermost-right of the grid, kneeled before it, and inserted the key into the lock. The moment I turned the key, the heavy lock became undone. I removed it from the door and placed it, along with the key, gently on the wooden floor.

Slowly, I opened the rusted door of the locker and peered inside. The locker held three items. One was a leather holster. The other was a thick, black, and cylindrical object that looked to be about a foot in length. Finally, there was a small green and black box made from cardboard. I pulled all three items out of the locker with the upmost care. With one hand, I held the holster and cylindrical object while keeping the small box squeezed between my arm and my side. With the other hand, I closed the door of the locker and placed the lock back on it. I knew that no one came to this station anymore, but I still didn’t want someone or something to know that I was there.

As I stood, I examined the holster and cylindrical object in my hands. The holster was small enough to fit around my waist. There were two pockets, one of which was designed to hold a large gun, the other was designed to hold a sickle with a particularly long handle. Along the belt of the holster, were seven small loops to fit up to seven bullets. It was designed to be lightweight, so not to be a hindrance to the wearer. I wrapped the holster around me and fastened it with the clasp. Once it was secured around my waist, I patted the leather of the belt a few times and, suddenly, it vanished. I patted the area where the belt should be and it reappeared. The holster was enchanted to turn invisible when the wearer pat it. Anything in the pockets or loops of the holster also turned invisible. The perfect way to conceal weapons while walking in public. The Woodsman had this thing made for me around the same time joined his gang, that was about seven years ago. I was mildly surprised that it still fit me.

After putting on the holster, I took the small box from under my arm and opened it. Inside, were seven large brass bullets that were wrapped in purple shell castings. The brass slugs shimmered like gold in the sunlight. I could tell that they were expertly polished; I could even see my reflection in them. I could tell that these weren’t the rounds that I usually use. These were bullets that the Woodsman had his friend made. This friend was a gunsmith who also made specialty bullets. The guns and bullets he made normally came at a high price, but as he was an associate of the Woodsman, he gave them to my boss at the low, low price of free. I wanted to get angry. I wanted to go back to the Woodsman’s hideout and demand that he gives me my usual ammunition, but as I took each bullet and placed them inside the loops of my holster, I reminded myself that I had already made my boss angry when I leave and that I didn’t want to have a falling out with him. I collapsed the small box and put it in the pocket of my jeans.

With the holster around my waist and the bullets in their place, I turned my attention to the black cylindrical object in my left hand. It felt cold, hard, and somewhat heavy in my hand. I twirled it a few times in my hand, tossing it from one hand to the other, before having it toward the sky. The metal of the object shone in the light. There was an engraving on the object that read, “ROSEBUD G. HOOD”, in bright red, cursive letters. I held the object toward the light for a moment, before swinging it down with all my might.

With that one swift and abrupt movement, a red rod, a similar shade of red as that of my hair, protruded from the black cylinder. The red rod extended in length, becoming longer than one foot; as it extended, it also became skinnier than the black cylinder. The moment it stopped extending, a large, long, curved blade appeared from the top of the rod; as the blade emerged from the rod, it made a sound like that of a sword being removed from its sheath. A shorter, but equally sharp, blade appeared from behind the longer one. In a matter of seconds, the black cylinder transformed into a scythe with a black grip, a long red snath, and two steel blades that could slice the toughest of skin.

It was impressive, how an innocent and slightly useless object can turn into a menacing weapon. And it didn’t end there. I threw the scythe in the air and I watched it transform again. The blades retracted within the rod, then the bronze rod retracted until all that remained was the black cylinder. I watched it land into my outstretched hand. As it did so, something popped out from underneath it: it was a red trigger surrounded by a red trigger guard. I watched as a single red bronze barrel protruded from the black cylinder. At the same time, the cylinder bent itself to create the handle. The scythe had changed back into its previous state, and from there it transformed into a single-barrel sawed-off shotgun. This type of shotgun was break-action, meaning I didn’t had to pump anything; I could just break it and load the shell inside. This kind of shotgun was also easier for me to use; I was still considered a novice when it came to guns.

I looked down at the gun. The engraving never left the handle of the weapon; both the scythe and the shotgun has my name etched into it. I cracked a smile. I had this thing for almost seven years; I never did a job without it. It was a birthday gift from my late grandfather; it was on that same birthday where my grandmother gave me my signature red hood. My grandfather, bless him soul, taught me how to hunt, how to fish, and how to survive. He had this made for me and showed me how to use it properly. He told me that the weapon was made with a mixture of technology and magic and that the creator, a craftsman from some major metropolis in Fairytale, was a friend of his. Next to my hood, it was my most treasured possession. As much as I got angry with the Woodsman, even I had to admit that he respected the sentimental value of objects.

I placed the gun in one of the pockets of the holster. I looked down at the floor and saw that the rusted key was still there. I picked it up and stuffed it in the pocket of my jeans; I intended to bring it back to my boss when I got the chance. I had my weapon, ammunition, my holster, and the name of my target was in the jade cylinder, which was in my backpack. Now, I was ready to get back to work.

Back Home

The last days of the program was fun! First, we went to an animal sanctuary, where I got to meet a lot of animals. I took a lot of pictures, but I have yet to upload them to my computer. But, I will upload them soon.

Then, on the next day, we went to RambleWild, which is a place where visitors do rope courses in midair. I got to climb ladders, walk on planks, and even zip-line! I didn’t get to take any pictures, but I was able to get some items as souvenirs.

Finally, on the last full day of the program, we all did mock interviews where the staff members pretended to be employers for our dream jobs. Afterwards, we went to Jiminy Peaks, where we rode a ski-lift up to a mountain, went on a hike to the top, and saw a wind turbine up close! Later, we rode on the Alpine Slide!

Yesterday, was the last day, my mom and step-dad came to pick me up. Before we left for the Bronx, we stopped in a nearby town for lunch. I was able to get some more souvenirs that I plan on sending to my family members soon.

Overall, it was a great two-weeks. I’m glad that my mom was able to meet my friends from the program and that we got to explore some shops before leaving for home. Well, I’m going to go. I’ll be sure to post some pictures later. Good night!

Twelfth Night

Hello! First, let me say sorry if my last post was a bit sloppy. I wanted to write down everything as fast as I can because it was late and I needed to go to bed. I ended up making a few mistakes in my post. It’s late now, but this time, I’ll slow down in writing.

 I had a great time the other day!

First, I went to a modern art museum in a nearby town. Most of the artwork was amazing! I got a lot of inspiration. There was this one piece of art that was attached to the ceiling that I thought was great! Only a handful of people liked it, but I don’t care! I believe that a great artist can see the beauty and importance of everything and that just about everything can and should be considered art!

I took pictures, but I’m having difficulties uploading them to WordPress. Once they load, I’ll post them here. 

Then, later that night, I saw the Shakespearean play, “Twelfth Night” in a nearby park! It is now my second favorite play from William Shakespeare. The first being, “Pericles, Prince of Tyre” and the third being, “Romeo and Juliet”. The play reminded be of “A Mid-summer’s Night Dream”, with all of the misunderstandings and confusions that the characters face. My favorite part of the play was when the twins, Sebastian and Viola, reunite. I loved it! 

I also went to a driving-range and hit a few golf balls! I had someone video tape me. I’m in the middle of sending the video to my family, but I’m having trouble with that too. No need to worry. I’ll figure it out.

Oh! I now have a LinkedIn amount! You can find it by clicking here. I’m still working on it, but I think you’ll like what I have so far.

Finally, tonight we had a little concert. A student in my program played some songs for us on his guitar. It was nice.

Ok, that’s all I wanted to write. Talk to you later!

Yet another busy week

Yet another busy week

We had a busy week at the program. So far, I had lots of fun.

On my first day at the program, I learned about money and budgeting. Then, I ate apple-cinnamon pancakes with a side of ham at a diner.

Then, right before I went swimming in Lee Beach, and got the chance to find more rocks and seashells for my collection, I ate pasta at a restaurant called The Locker Room.

I went to a college in Berkshire. The college was nice and I got to talk to the other students in the program. I was surprised at how large the college was.


I went to Tanglewood and got to walk in a maze and see a live orchestra.

After that, I went on a tour of the Norman Rockwell Museum and learned about Rockwell and his artwork. I learned about the Four Freedoms as well as the story of Ruby Bridges. A worker at the museum even gave me a postcard with the painting that Rockwell made of Rudy Bridges for free! You might had seen or heard of the painting, “A Problem We All Live With”, as well as the Four Freedoms. I heard of Norman Rockwell, but I never knew that he was such a talented painter. I also got a bookmark and a rubric cube at the gift card. Later, I stepped into the house when he worked. I live near the home of Edgar Allen Poe, but it was still special.


Then, I had pasta with bread at a restaurant called 51 Park.

I went on a tour of Blue Q, and afterwards I was given a bag with stuffs inside made from the company.

Then, I saw an amazing dance performance at Jacob’s Pillow.

Finally, today I went to a place where they make paper and other stuff from old money. It was called Crane & Company.

Then, I ate at a Thai restaurant, where a dancer performed every so often. I had Thai tea, Thai soup, and green tea ice cream.

Then, I got to play a game of indoor mini-golf!

So, you can see why I hadn’t posted recently. But, really, I’m having a fun time and I hope to share more of my adventures with you all.

That’s it for now. Have a good night.

Lee, MA

Sorry for not posting anything. I know it was a long time since my last post. Just wanted to let all of you know that I’m now in Lee, Massachusetts for a two-week job readiness program. So far, everything been fun. This afternoon, we went to Lee Beach and went swimming. Before that, we played some games. Yesterday, I met my roommate and the other students. We talked, ate, and relaxed.

Everything been fine so far and I hope to learn something new. I took a lot of pictures of the town. Here they are:

Also, I’m working on a mystery novel. I’m calling it, “Turning a Blind Eye: A Stargazer Everhart Mystery”. Here is the plot and backstory:

Aiden Everhart, a private detective that lived and worked in the city of Las Vegas, and his wife, Petunia Everhart, a writer who mostly wrote mystery and thriller novels, lived a happy, stable life with their three children. Bradley, the eldest child, and the first-born son, was the most popular student in his school. Firefly, the youngest child, was sharp-tongued, but passionate about helping others. Then there was Stargazer, the second-born son, and the middle child. Stargazer was born prematurely, so his eyes didn’t have time to develop. His eyes don’t have pupils, rendering his completely blind.

His parents named him Stargazer because his eyes reminded them of a starry night sky. Despite his obvious disability, his parents loved him with all their hearts, and, although he couldn’t see, Stargazer was very smart. With the help and protection of Firefly, he was able to go to public school, cook, play chess, and even graduated high school with a GPA of 4.0.

One afternoon, Aiden and Petunia, as part of their 20th wedding anniversary, went to broad a plane to Europe and left Bradley, who was eighteen at the time, and still in college, in charge of Stargazer, Firefly, and the house. A day later, word is sent to the children that the plane that was carrying their parents crashed landed into the ocean. After the funeral, Bradley, overcome with rage, exploded at Stargazer. Later that night, he announced that he would be sending Stargazer, seventeen at the time, to a college in New York.

So, Stargazer spent four years in New York. He met a girl named Ophelia, a gothic girl who also loss her parents, never finished high school, and was living with her childish uncle. After graduating college with a Bachelor’s degree in liberal arts, he married Ophelia. The couple brought an old van and turn it to a bookmobile. They began their lives as traveling librarians, bringing books to towns and villages that don’t have libraries. They had three children together: Absentia, an aspiring lawyer, Frostbite, an aspiring ice hockey player, and Maud, an aspiring actress.

After eighteen years of non-stop traveling and being away from his siblings, Stargazer, thirty-five years of age, finally returned to Las Vegas to see his thirty-four-year-old sister, who became a nun for the local church. Firefly begged for him and his family to stay in Las Vegas permanently. He asked his wife and children if they want to live in Las Vegas and they agreed. It been only a week in their new permanently home and already things had gotten complicated.

The body of a young woman was found in a hotel room. The police ruled the death an accident. Everything within the city goes back to normal, if only for a while. As it turned out, Firefly met the woman who died. She was an escort who had came to the church to confess. Stargazer, armed with his wits, slyness, and gentlemanly charms, took it upon himself to solve the mysterious death. However, as the death count raise, so does the suspicion around Stargazer. 

Anyways, that is it for now. I’ll post again later. Have a nice evening.

Chapter Four of “Realm of Madness”

I have finished the fourth chapter of “Realm of Madness”. I’ll add it the other chapters later, but for now, you can read it here. Enjoy!

Chapter 4: The Gift

Back to what I was talking about before. Great Uncle Arthur and I had yet another pleasant talk while on the back porch. We talked about many things; things that would take too long to describe in detail. I will say though that I got a lot off my chest and I felt just a hint of happiness. Yet, there were times where we needed to stop because the yelling inside the house was so loud that we couldn’t talk over it. I could only assume that my parents were arguing again. Mother did always hate it when my father let Arthur into the house.

“Pay them no mind, Mary.” Arthur said. “They’re being ridiculous, as always.”

I stared down at my folded hands sitting neatly in my lap. A familiar feeling of guilt and remorse rushed through me and I feel that same lump of coal forming in the pit of my stomach. “Are Mom and Dad fighting because of me?” I asked.

Arthur gently patted me on the back. “Of course not, Mary.” He said. “Grow-ups fight over trivial matters all the time.”

“It’s not trivial!” I protested; I even lifted my head to look at him. “Flint and Marine keep saying that Mom and Dad are gonna put me up for adoption.”

“My dear Mary, they would never do that.” Arthur said firmly, as if his words only would make that a fact.

“How do you know?” I snapped. I quickly recognized that I may had sounded angry, and that Arthur might think that I was angry at him, eventhough I wasn’t. “I’m sorry.” I apologized. “I just feel scared.” I felt my lower lip quiver and my hands automatically clench fists as they raised to wipe the tears that were already forming in my eyes. “I’m scared Mom and Dad will abandon me because they don’t care about me anymore.” I exclaimed before breaking into silent sobs. Arthur didn’t say anything. He let me sob while he rubbed my back. It was comforting.

The truth was that I wasn’t afraid of being abandoned by my parents. I knew, even back then, that if they wanted to get rid of me, they would just send me to live with Arthur. I didn’t even care if they suddenly stopped caring about me. No, I didn’t fear abandonment or neglect. I feared the idea of being alone with my depression. Yes, there were times that I didn’t like my parents or siblings, but they, along with Great Uncle Arthur, were still my family. I didn’t have any friends before the incident and even if I did, I doubted that they could empathize with my problem. Whenever I was with my dysfunctional family, I felt as though I wasn’t alone in my suffering.      

After a minute of sobbing, I wiped the last tears off my face. I looked up at Arthur with a hint of a smile. “Thanks.” I said.

He smiled as he said: “There’s no need to thank me, Mary. That’s what I’m here for. But you must understand,” His expression slowly turned into one of seriousness. “Your parents do care about you. They just have odd ways of showing it is all.”

“What about Flint and Marine?” I asked. “They hate me.”

A hint of his former smile returned to his face. He said in a whispered voice: “Your older siblings are just jealous.”

“Jealous? Really?”

He nodded. “It’s common for older siblings to be jealous for younger ones.” He said.

“I don’t want them to be jealous of me.”

“They won’t be.” He assured me. “We’ll grow out of it. I’m sure of it.”

“I hope so.” I murmured. I pulled my knees close to my chest and hugged them with my tiny arms. I settled my chin on my knees and looked down at the ground. The lump of coal began to rock back and forth inside my stomach, until it was rubbing against the sides of my insides, creating a stomachache. Guilt ate at me in this same. It always started with a mere stomachache, then the pain would elevate into something like pins and needles pressing against the skin of my entrails and punching holes in them. My limbs would feel weak; so weak that I couldn’t move them. Finally, when all my energy drained from my body, I would let my eyes stare into space as I contemplated my wrongdoings. With my bloodshot eyes and sickly skin, I guessed I resembled a zombie.

“Mary?” My great uncle said, concern evident in his voice.

“I can’t handle everyone hating me.” I said as my head sunk so low that my face was hidden by my knees. I brought my hands up to my head and started to grip my hair in my fists. I was on the verge of crying again.

“My dear, no one hates you.” Arthur said. “Who could hate you?”

“A lot of people.” I answered.

“Well, those people just need to get to know you, and they’ll see what a wonderful young lady you are.”

I slowly lifted my eyes to meet his. Great Uncle Arthur wasn’t the kind of person to give compliments lightly, but when he did give a compliment, you knew he meant it. “You think so?” I asked.

He nodded. “Of course, I do.” There was a pause, and his eyes lit up with a little boy who had just be told that he will be getting a new toy. “If you weren’t such a nice girl, I wouldn’t bother with a present.”


One of the many things I loved about Arthur was that he always got me the best gifts. Whether it was my birthday or Christmas, he would always get me exactly what I wanted. Most of the time, he gave me books, which was great. I felt genuine joy whenever I read the books Great Uncle Arthur gave me. I always liked reading, and I was good at it. My teachers said that I read at a high school level. My favorite books to read were mystery novels, like the ones written by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle or Agatha Christie.

I watched as my great uncle brought the black suitcase he always carried with him onto his lap. “Close your eyes and hold your hands out.” He said. I shut my eyes and held my hands out as instructed. I heard the telltale sound of the suitcase opening and I wondered what new book he had gotten me. I allowed myself to daydream about the new mysteries and adventures I would get to read about. Suddenly, I felt something gently pressed into my small hands. It felt soft; not hard like the other books he gave me. A softcover book? I thought. “Open your eyes.” I heard Arthur said, and I did.

Maybe it was because I already expecting a book, or maybe it was because I gotten myself excited, but when I opened my eyes, I was shocked. Though, not to say I was disappointed to find that the thing in my hands wasn’t a book; I was surprised more than anything. “I got this during my trip to Japan.” Arthur said. “The man who sold it to me said it was a rare item. Nothing like it exists anywhere else in the world.” I looked up at Arthur, who had a prideful look on his face, like he picked out the best possible present. “Don’t you think it’s adorable?” He said. I didn’t look to meet his gaze. Instead I eyed to the object in my hands, then turned it around a few times in my hands. My gift from Great Uncle Arthur: a stuffed dog toy.

The arms and legs were stubby. The tail was slender, short, and curved. The ears were ovular and floppy. The eyes, which looked as though they were made from a shiny plastic, were black and beady. The whole thing looked as if it taken multiple types of fabrics to put together. The right arm and left leg were a lavender color. The left arm and the right leg was a bright blue. The tail was a bubblegum pink. The body was orange with patches of blue, lavender, and pink where the arms, legs, and tail were attached. The left half of the head was yellow, while the right side was green. The left ear was red, the other was brown. The small, almost catlike muzzle was pure white, saved for the large black that was most likely supposed to represent the nose. Attached to the nose, there was a thick, black line that ran downward and ended in an outline of a semicircle; a small, simple smile.

I felt so many strange feelings while holding the thing, but I pushed them all to the back of my head and embraced my great uncle is a tight hug. “I love it!” I exclaimed.

He chuckled and hugged me back. “I knew you would like it. I thought you needed something to keep you company.”

I broke the hug to look at him. “So, what’s his name?” I asked.

He answered my question with a question. “Well, what do you want it name to be?”

I looked down at the stuffed creature in my hands with a smile on my face. I then held it–or rather him, because I assumed it to be a male–toward the sky. “I wanna call him Puppy-dog!” I am now aware that ‘Puppy-dog’ wasn’t the most original name for a stuffed dog toy, but I was eleven and I didn’t know many names. Besides, it is far too late to change his name.

“Puppy-dog it is.” Said Arthur. “I can tell that you two are going to be great friends.”

I nodded my head in agreement, but, on the inside, I was nervous, frighten, and uneasy. There was some things odd about Puppy-dog. Firstly, he looked brand new, like he never been touched before, but as I held him in my hands, I sensed the presence of several other people; it was as if other children had held him. Secondly, for some reason, he felt heavy. I knew, even at a young age, that stuffed animals were made of cotton. Puppy-dog should had been light, but he wasn’t. Lastly, and this was the strangest thing of all, Arthur said that there was nothing like Puppy-dog in the whole world, but I had the nagging feeling that I had seen something like him somewhere before.

What I first thought of Puppy-dog was nothing compared to what I discovered. In the days that would come, I would discover just how unusual the stuffed animal was. Almost all my uneasy feelings about him would be answered as I came closer to the truth about my new toy–and yes, I am using the term sarcastically. I am still not one-hundred percent sure that he is a toy, and if he is, then he is the strangest toy is the entire world. But I’m getting ahead of myself again. I’ll get to Puppy-dog’s true nature eventually, but, for those who are reading my posted, you’ll just have to wait in the meantime.

Posted: August 11, 2020 1:00 AM

Word Count: 1,871