By Camille Atebe, Illustrated by Jess Olsen
Cyrus slumped low in his seat and tried to get past the gorgon to get to level eight. It was hard to focus on gorgon-battling while wearing a tuxedo and attending the opera, but Cyrus was up for the challenge. It wasn’t that he hated opera, or that he didn’t want to be at the brand new Geltwin Theater on opening night, but he’d seen Der Rosenkavalier more than fifteen times already, and needed a little diversion. He looked up to see his mom, resplendent as the Marschallin, belt out the beginning of her first aria. He smiled.
Not every ten-year old kid had the life he did, traveling the world with his famous mother, attending operas all over. But Cyrus loved it. He hoped to be a famous composer when he grew up, and he would write operas for his mother to star in. But tonight—well, tonight he was going to get to level ten. Continue reading
by Camille Atebe, Illustrated by Jess Olsen
Little Red Riding Hood walked home through the woods wearily, her beautiful red cloak matted and sticky with wolf saliva. She had had a rough day, as anyone familiar with her story well knows. Her empty picnic basket knocked against her knees as she walked, and her fist clenched the bunch of flowers she had picked for her Granny, now withered and limp (not her Granny, the flowers. Although, come to think of it, her Granny was looking a little withered and limp too, after the day she’d had.) Red finally reached her own front door and pushed it open. There in the front entrance stood her mother, arms crossed, mouth pursed with disapproval, eyes blazing. Uh-oh, thought Red.
Of course Red got in trouble. She was horribly late, and hadn’t called. The fact that the Big Bad Wolf had eaten the phone did not absolve her, since it was her fault that the Big Bad Wolf was in Granny’s house in the first place. Red’s mom sent Red’s dad out to make sure Granny was okay (she was) and yelled at Red quite extensively. Continue reading