Original Works

Cave of Dreams [12 Genre Months]

It began with a curse, passed down from one generation onto the next–a curse many of his ancestors called a gift. Yet, in the mind of this boy king, he was condemned–condemned by the boy in the mirror. For unlike his father and the kings who ruled before him, he loathed his reflection.

What he saw, even in his human state, was a beast. His deep-set eyes hung tired from the fear of death. His youthful grin lost in the kingdoms he had conquered. His sword-wielding arm stained by the blood of his enemies. Never was he just a boy–always, he was a monster hungry for the next victory, the next throne, the next war. What a miracle it would be, if he stopped swinging blades for a day. And, a miracle it was.

“This will be my last battle,” he said.

Sheathing his double-edged sword, he strolled to his steed with his royal army behind him.

“This will ruin your empire,” his advisor replied. “This will ruin you, your majesty.”

“I’m already ruined.”

“You are more victorious than the kings before you. And, you can do so much more.”

“This isn’t me. Before I lose myself again, I must do this.”

During the battle at Vita, while his men pillaged the kingdom, he heard of the Cave of Dreams. Some of the citizens of Vita had braved the beast within in order to flee the war. Alas, no one knew what became of the courageous few. But as Vita crumbled to ashes, the folklore reached his ears–what seemed like a myth was hope.

“Your majesty-”

“I am a monster. I have no control over this body and what it becomes.”

“You are a warrior–a king–not a monster. What will our kingdom become if this beast takes your gift?”

“Gift?” He chuckled.

Arguing with any of the men in his royal court was a futile endeavour. They were the first to reap the harvest of war and would say anything to stop him. Deciding he had wasted enough time with the pointless debate, he excused his advisor and mounted his horse. Reining his stallion East, the journey began.

The Cave of Dreams nestled within the Eastern volcanic range, by the foot of the tallest mountain in the snow-capped massif. From the ruins of Vita, he rode through the pine-dense timberland, crossed pebble-shored rivers, edged around slippery cliffs, before reaching the valleys of the mounts. The tallest of the mounts rose at the head of the range–the colossal grey rock was both daunting and magnificent. But unlike its siblings lined behind it–all birthed from the same phenomenon–it homed the gift only bestowed upon the first born: the cave.

From above the valley, the cave was invisible to the human eye. But as the entourage descended into the first basin, stirring with a bone-chilling breeze, the cave made its presence known. Its mouth, as wide as his kingdom’s iron gate, opened to an unwelcoming darkness. No sound escaped its cracking lip. Nothing living grew within. If he was a common boy, who had never faced death, he would’ve rode by without hesitation. Unfortunately, he was a king–owning a list of enemies before he even became a man.

Dismounting his steed, he strode to the mouth of the cave. But as his men lit their torches, ready to go before him, he had the strangest thought. It wasn’t his own–or at least, it didn’t feel like his own.

Taking a blazing torch, he said, “I’m going alone.” The captain of his army parted his lips, but before the soldier could insist, he repeated, “I’m going alone.”

His men knew not to challenge him. Retreating to their horses–possibly wondering if his nine year-old brother could fill his shoes should he never return–he turned his back toward them. Then, with determination to break the curse, he pushed forward.

He had no fear. He had seen darkness far more consuming than the one before him. He had swam in silence far more lifeless than the hollow engulfing him. He lost his soul at the age of twelve, when the weight of the crown was placed upon his fragile shoulders. And though he had feared death for the past three years, he didn’t fear it anymore. With each step he took, he set his eyes on salvation. But, how many steps were there? The walk down the burrow felt like an endless journey. The entrance of the cave had long vanished–only blackness surrounded him. When he finally spoke, as a question to himself, he found the answer.

“When does this end?” he murmured.

“It ends… when you want it to end,” a deep voice echoed.

“Are you the beast?” he asked the disembodied voice.     

“I am… what you want me to be.”

“Then grant me a wish, as the people say you will do.”

“What do you wish for?”

“I wish to be human.”

“Human? You look human.”

“I am not. There’s a curse upon my family–the men who wear the crown become monsters on the battlefield.”

“Then… take off the crown.”

“I can’t–I will only be passing the curse to my brother.”

“I will grant your wish, if you take off the crown.”

“You will break the curse?”


“Very well.”

Without contemplation, he lifted the gold, ruby-encrusted crown off his head and placed it on the uneven ground.

“Good. Now,” the voice said, “wake up.”

He opened his eyes. The bright light, streaming through the window of his doctor’s office, blinded him for a second.

“How do you feel?” his doctor asked.

“I don’t know,” he replied, blinking his eyes into focus. “Am I supposed to be a different person?”

“Hypnotherapy doesn’t reflect immediately after a session. Let’s see how your week goes before we give it another try.”

“Sure. I can do that.”

His doctor grinned, before swiftly scribbling on a page in a leather-bound book.

“What are you writing?” he asked.

“You said, you can do that.”

“Is that… odd?”

His doctor merely smiled. “I’ll see you next week. Same time?”

“Sure, doc. I can do that too.”


12 Genre Months © 2018 by Jeyna Grace. All rights reserved.

(Click HERE for the list of stories in this writing challenge.)


This is Sparta

Golden plated swords, eagle emblazoned shields, armor molded from the finest steels, and 300 warriors ready to face the beast.

It was a fire breathing, black, skeletal winged dragon, with scales that no ordinary sword could penetrate. Its eyes were as red as the blood of the lives it had stolen. But the 300 remained still, not a hint of fear present as they faced the beast that wanted to destroy everything they protected and preserved since they were born.

As it flapped its huge wings and let out a screech, a gust of wind nearly stumbled a young one over.

“You stand before me, thinking you could defeat me? I have stolen so many lives, but I would spare your’s today if you would give it up,” the beast said, in a nasty deep voice.

“Give up our gems we will not!” the young one replied.

The beast laughed falsely. “You would rather die than give up your gem?”

“I’d rather kill you than give up my gem,” the young one corrected and the beast chuckled.

“You? Kill me? You are barely a warrior!”

“Let’s stop the chit chat shall we?” the young one boldly spoke.

“Fine!” the beast roared as he breathed down large flames of blue upon the 300 warriors.

As the beast landed before them, it clawed with its giant talons, swung its wings at the warriors, and didnt spare them from his flaming breath.

But not one warrior fled as they charged and jabbed their swords at it, leading it to a trap they have previously set up.

As it fought the minute warriors, in comparison to its size, it didnt realize it was following their path and with one footing, its legs fell into separate pits of sharpened wood.

Screeching, the beast tried to free itself, but the pits were too deep, and the more it struggled, the more rooted it became.

With the distraction of the many warriors, as they tried to pin it down, the young one jumped onto the back of the beast and drove the golden plated sword through its skull and into its brain. With one last screech, the dragon fell flat on the ground, dead.

The warriors cheered at their victory. The beast was constantly out to steal their gems, but it would never do so again.

These gems were their imagination, it was the key to fantasy. And they protected it.

When I see 300 people willing to not give up on their childhood fantasies and imaginations, I see 300 warriors slaying dragons, rescuing maidens and battling krakens. It is the world of which we may not live in, but a world of which we could always escape in to.

This story was merely to give tribute to the 300 subscribers who still hold on to their gift of imagination. Also not forgetting to thank you guys for your support by constantly reading my stories 🙂 You guys rock!

Oh, and a reminder, you can get my e-book at only USD3 for the month of December! You can support me and help me take another step closer to my dreams by getting a copy for yourself, reading it, and then giving me feedback! Email me at jeynalsc@gmail.com if you would like to purchase one. This would definitely help me keep my writing going!

Once again, to those 300 brave warriors who slayed the beast of busyness, work and stress just to keep your imaginations alive, thank you for your support! I wouldn’t have continued writing if I didn’t have 300 subscribers as moral support 🙂

Fan Fiction (Shorts)

All The Better To Eat You With!

“Only a beast would act in such a disgusting way. Where’s your manners Greyback?!” he taunted the hairy looking man, who sat a table away from them, and had his face buried in a bowl as he ate his meal.

“Are you a dog? Do you like eating like that?” he continued.

“Stop it John! He’s a werewolf!” his wife said in a hush hush manner.

“It’s not a full moon honey, what can he do?” John asked casually as he ruffled his son’s hair.

Instantaneously, John got up from his seat and headed towards the hairy man. And to no surprise, a few men followed behind him.

“Your kind isn’t welcomed in this town. I suggest you pack your bags and leave once you’re done giving yourself a food facial.” John chuckled and the men behind him roared in false laughter.

It was then that Greyback stood up and shoved his table forward, sending the men stumbling backwards.

Greyback gave a low growl as he eyed one men to another, and when his eyes fell on the innocent young boy at the corner of a table, who was looking half terrified, a small smile crept across his greasy face.

It was a brief moment, but as the boy stared back into that man’s eyes, a shiver ran down his spine. The hairy man was eyeing him hungrily as though he was the main course, and the food he stuck his face into earlier was just the appetizer.

“What are you looking at?!” John shouted at Greyback when he noticed him staring at his son.

“Dinner,” his rough, deep voice, replied softly.

“You leave right now!” John bravely shoved Greyback, who was 2 times his size.

“Or what?” Greyback did not even flinch.

“We’ll have wolf meat for dinner!” a small, scrawny old man boldly answered, and as the crowd in the little tavern shouted in agreement, he didn’t look so small anymore.

As one by one the people stood up, Greyback chuckled to himself. And with a cynical grin, he left.

A few days after the werewolf left town, the young boy, who briefly made eye contact with the creature of the night, decided to believe his father’s promises that the hairy man would not return.

It was only then that he bravely ran out of his home to play with his friends in the forest nearby.

“Where have you been?” one of his friends asked.

“Yea! We’ve been wondering why you never showed yesterday, and the day before. We thought you were kidnapped!” another said, as he playfully jabbed him in the arm.

“I wasn’t kidnapped, I was just sick,” the boy lied.

“Ok! Now that you’re back, lets go!”

The three boys spent the entire day by a small river, getting themselves wet as they chased one another. Their playful shouts and laughter had sent all the birds away, including the sun later in the day.

“I have to go home now,” one of his friend said with a sigh.

“Go then,” the boy replied.

“Aren’t you coming?”

“No. I’ll see you guys tomorrow!” he answered shortly as he waved his friends goodbye.

He realized how stupid he was for fearing the hairy man. He had missed all the fun he could have had with his friends and now he forced himself to make up for it as he sat by a rock, taking in the nocturnal view of the forest.

The moon was finally up and the birds were back. It was peaceful enough for him to fall asleep right there and then. But when something made a loud suspicious snap, it turned the peaceful forest into a dangerous one.

“Who’s there?” he asked, as his eyes darted around.

“It’s me,” a rough deep voice spoke, hidden behind a tree.

“Who are you?”

A big shadow came looming over him as a man came out into the light.

“Remember me?”

The boy gulped. It felt as though he was in his worst nightmare, but he knew very well that he wasn’t. He didn’t bother taking a second to think as he started running.

As he made his way under branches and over roots, he could hear the man’s evil laughter behind him. He knew that if he stopped running, the man would grab him and eat him, and so he forced his short legs to keep moving.

When he finally saw street lights, he unknowingly stopped to take a breather. And that was when he heard something howl. The boy stared into the darkness, trying to see where the sound came from, and before he knew it, a beast came charging at him. It’s big, claw like hands, grabbed him around the waist and hoisted him into the air.

He tried to shake himself free but the ugly, hairy beast was too strong, and before his screams could escape his lungs, the beast bit into his thigh.

Morning came with the shrieking cry of a young girl that led the entire town to where the body of the boy lay. But to everyone’s surprise, he was still alive, barely surviving in his own pool of blood. The werewolf only bit his thigh, but the amount of blood he lost gave him 3 weeks at St. Mungo’s.

And though his parent’s were relieved that he was no longer missing or dead, they had another issue to worry about. What will happen to their son when the next full moon arrives? How will they stop their little Remus from turning into the creature that bit him?

Questions kept ringing in their heads as they watched their precious son sleep. Their only regret was the  memory of stepping out of line with a werewolf.