About the Newsletter
Welcome to the eleventh edition of Fabled Realities. You will enjoy fictional stories that will transport you to unique experiences. Every Friday, I will publish an issue that includes part of a short story. The entire story will be published before a new one begins.
I aim to tantalize your creative spirit and keep you coming back for more!
If you missed the earlier issues, check them out!
The Shadow Trader
Part Eleven
I had to wait another few days before the fire was completely out. Nobody was allowed near the woods. I constantly heard his prominent voice and words, “I’m the Shadow Trader. I’ve come to turn your dreams into reality.”
What I wouldn’t give to hear him again.
As soon as it was safe, I made my way to my tree and Jim. When I stepped out of my car, tears sprung to my eyes. The majestic Flatirons Vista Trail and surrounding area were no longer lush and full of greenery and life. The palette was ominous, charred, and dead. There was no sound. No bird chirping. No squirrel skittering. No soft water flowing.
It was still. At first, I felt stuck. It nearly felt like before at my house–like I was frozen in time.
But something triggered and I started running.
I tore through the woods toward the Shadow Trader. Ever since meeting Jim, I felt inclined to consider him more so than the tree when I thought of my special place. The connection was instant. I knew he felt it. Though I didn’t know what this connection meant, I was excited to explore it–excited to share.
When I got there, my heart sank.
Instead of my Tree of Life, I found scorched earth. Slowly, I crept forward and saw the stump. I gasped. While it was gnarled and cracked, it was undoubtedly in the shape of a heart.
What could this mean? Was it all a coincidence? Right as I thought I may have feelings for Jim, I see this.
I slumped down on the ground and hugged the stump.
Before I could allow myself to succumb to my emotions, something clicked. The words my Pop shared resonated deep within. I considered how I often lived more in my fantasy worlds of books than in reality. I thought of the dreams that I wrote about. I didn’t just have one dream journal. In my short life, I filled nearly four journals. I did have recurring dreams. Some have come true. Nothing significant, but they were there.
My mother surprising me with a new bookshelf. Rachel getting shipped off to camp last summer, ruining our summer plans. My brother shockingly getting an “A” on his Math test a few weeks ago.
And now–Jim.
Didn’t he play a recurring role in my dreams? As of late, that was an easy yes. But now that I thought hard, Jim did feel like the dark, mysterious stranger who had popped up now and then in my dreams. I never saw his face, but he was there. Sometimes he saved me. Sometimes he didn’t.
A sense of calm washed over me.
I didn’t need to look up.
“Hi, Jim.”
If you are interested in supporting me with my self-publishing endeavors, feel free to throw me a Kofi!