Fern heaved her arm over her body and silenced her alarm clock by mashing the dark brown buttons with the palm of her hand. Eager to remain ignorant of the demands placed upon her by the continuous buzzing, she brought a handful of blanket towards her chin and rolled back onto her side. The sensation of her feet dangling over the end of the mattress stripped her of the peace she was chasing, and half her body shot up. An unstoppable beaming smile took over Fern’s mouth as she lifted her knees up to her chest, spun around and stretched her legs down towards the carpeted floor. Pushing the sheets aside and stepping out of bed, Fern counted three fewer steps than usual to arrive at her bedroom mirror and she embraced the unusual feeling of having to bend down to assess her appearance. The fear that she wasn’t going to be able to recognise herself disappeared the moment she saw her face and she performed a single twirl and clapped her hands knowing that the vegetables had done everything her mother promised her they would do.

Fern took a white plate out from the cupboard nearest to her knees and opened the fridge. After gathering up a selection of vegetables left over from the previous night’s dinner, Fern created one of the most exciting breakfasts she had ever eaten. The plate was empty by the time Fern’s parents woke up and they were followed closely by her older brother, Jackson. Fern expected a calm reaction from her family about her taller nature, but there was something unsettling about the fact that they had not reacted at all. They had, she assumed, become so accustomed to the fact that vegetables give you superpowers that it no longer impressed them when someone, not even their own daughter, woke up two feet taller than when they went to bed. Their lack of surprise was particularly obvious when Fern had to duck down to get through the front door on her way out of the house to go to school.

Reluctantly walking through the school gate, Fern was reminded of the worry she felt last year when she experimented with a new style of haircut. She thought that a year would be more than long enough for the students to forget about how horrendous her hair had looked but the particularly mean students were still bringing it up as recently as last week. Due to her new height, however, those same students not only apologised to Fern for their behaviour, but also invited her to play half-court basketball with them at lunchtime. Fern held back the tears while accepting their invitation. The school bell rang, and Fern snuck in two more pieces of carrot, three pieces of broccoli and some peas before bending down to enter her classroom, where, as a result of her height, she lasted ten minutes and thirty seconds before being asked to leave and complete her work outside.

By the time the bell went for recess, Fern was so tall that she could clearly see over the school’s buildings and towards the centre of town. She tried calming the other students who were frustrated by the fact that they had to yell to get her attention, resulting in them revoking their invitation and playing half-court basketball without her. Wanting to be alone, Fern took a giant step towards the school’s back gate and sat down, sobbing as she tucked her knees up to her chest and hugged them close to her chest. Looking towards the horizon, Fern wiped away her tears as she squinted, trying to make sense of what she would later describe as “the fastest-moving object she had ever seen flying through the sky”. As the object got closer, Fern was better able to make out some of its details. It was a boy. Wearing a cape. With writing on it. Initials maybe. Fern bent her tall body down to get a better look when the boy landed in the middle of her left foot.

“So, you’re the notorious Tall Fern, hey?”
Fern shook her head. “I…”
“There’s no time for that, now. My name is Night-Vision Jackson. I’m a superhero and I’m here to help.”

In the deepest part of a creek most people mistook for a river, a fish named Cameron was swimming amongst the mossy roots and well-worn pebbles with his energetic friends, Dave and Lucy. As it was Sunday evening, they had recently finished playing a lengthy game of Hide-and-go-Swim when Cameron announced to his now disappointed friends that, due to the orange glow in the sky, it was time for them to head home. They begged for one final round of their favourite game while staring up at him with their puppy-dog eyes. Not looking forward to the possibility of listening to his friends whine all the way home, Cameron reluctantly agreed to take part in one final round of Hide-and-go-Swim, but not before outlining the dangers associated with staying out so late and re-establishing the boundaries of the game. Since Cameron was the first one to be found in their previous round, he took it upon himself to face the muddy bank and begin counting backwards from twenty, not knowing that this would be the last game of Hide-and-go-Swim any of them would ever play.

The moment he reached zero, Cameron turned around and began the ritualistic call announcing his involvement in the game. “Ready or not, here I come!” Cameron wriggled his way through the water and, before getting close to the roots, he spotted Lucy’s distinctive white and brown spotted tail sticking out from behind the same log where she had hidden for the last four rounds. He called out, letting Lucy know he had found her and felt a little bit sorry for her as she giggled and reversed her way out from behind the log. Lucy swam directly towards him when she suddenly looked up over his head and said something that Cameron would never forget. “Wow! Free food!” she proclaimed. Cameron turned around to see the mythical sight of a worm wriggling in the clear water in front of them. Using her momentum, Lucy was able to swim over Cameron’s head, leaving him without a chance to act. She swallowed the worm in a single gulp and, to Cameron’s amazement, immediately gained the power of flight and took off right out of the water.

Having some idea of where Dave might be hiding, Cameron darted towards the deep holes in the bank of the creek. Dave always hid in the same spot as well, so Cameron spotted his friend’s bright white scales reflecting the light of the setting sun in the third hole to the left of the dark brown boulder. Despite his conviction, Cameron was unable to persuade Dave that Lucy had gained the power of flight after eating a magic, floating worm. Dave shook his head and insisted that he should now be in charge because Cameron had clearly lost his mind from playing Hide-and-go-Swim one too many times. So, with Dave leading the way, Cameron was free to keep an eye out for any mystical or magical creatures. Turning around to look behind him for no longer than three seconds, Cameron heard Dave mumble something and spun around just in time to watch Dave himself flying out of the water.

Cameron remained still in the water for a few moments, trying to make sense of what he had just seen. Jetting off out of the water like that was certainly out of character for his two friends, especially since they knew that he would have to try and make it home on his own. And, if he did make it home, he would then be in the unfortunate position of having to explain his friends’ sudden disappearance without sounding batty. Wondering how he had managed to get himself into this mess, Cameron jumped back when, without warning, a magic worm started hovering and dancing right in front of him. Despite his desire to fly with his friends, Cameron fought the urge to snap at the worm, choosing instead to remain in the safety of the water. Noticing that it wanted to follow him, Cameron guided the worm towards the log at the bottom of the creek and, after a few attempts, managed to trap it inside the log by placing stones over the hole in its side. To his surprise, the log then tried to fly out of the water, lifting off the ground while floating straight past him. Even from the sky, his friends must have become aware of his troubles because there was an almighty splash on the surface of the creek, followed by the arrival of a dozen fish, some he recognised and some he did not. To his immense relief, Cameron managed to locate Dave and Lucy amongst the chaos and the worms fighting for their attention as the three friends dashed home as fast as they could.

When they arrived home safely, Cameron was shocked at the speed that Dave and Lucy agreed when he made them promise that they would never play Hide-and-go-Swim again.

Lillian The Bookworm’s mother was consistently inventing imaginative ways of getting her daughter to stop devouring books and get to bed. “Books are always better after a good night’s rest,” she would say, and Lillian knew there was always truth to be found in her words. Now, having to face the challenges of the world on her own and make her own choices, Lillian was free to consume as many pages as she could until as late as she liked. Which she did, right up until the day she ate through the last page of the book in Sallyanne Marshall’s bedroom. On that day, Lillian The Bookworm crawled out of the now empty book she had always called home in search of her next meal.

Inch by inch, Lillian pushed her body down the wooden bookshelf and onto the cold floor below, where she used the gaps between the tiles to guide her body under the door and into a long corridor waiting on the other side. Dedicating the next several minutes to reaching the end of the hallway, she had just enough energy to crawl up the legs of the table in the middle of the large room where she now found herself. Half of her body remained on the table while she lifted her head to better observe the individual items in front of her. Towards the far end of the table was a book that Lillian did not recognise. It was thinner than any other book she had ever seen, and black-and-white print of all different sizes covered its surface where there would typically be a cover. Some of the smaller print wrapped itself around a colourful picture taking up a significant portion of the top of the paper. “Illustrations are a sign that a book was made with twice the love,” she could hear her mother’s words echoing from ear to ear. With renewed energy, Lillian navigated herself towards the book and, without a moment’s hesitation, bit into it as hard as she could. An overwhelming sour taste filled her mouth, and she stopped her jaw from moving in case the paper accidentally found its way to the back of her throat. This was no book. And, therefore, whatever it was, it was not for her. Leaving a small tear in the top of the first page as the only evidence she was ever there, Lillian crawled back down the table as if carrying a heavy weight behind her.

Following the narrow gap where the floor meets the wall, Lillian continued searching for any signs of books around her. Her body made her aware of the length of time that had passed since her last decent meal as she made her way over to another book that had been carelessly left on the floor next to a chair in the living room. Glossy pictures decorated its front cover, making the colours vibrant and attractive. Lillian’s body was slipping and sliding as she scoured its contents for any evidence that this book’s pages would make a worthwhile meal, yet the smell alone was enough to convince her that this was not a book either. Her mother’s advice played on her mind. “You don’t have to enjoy every book you come across, Lillian, but you should honour its author and try it for yourself.”

Unable to perform the deceptively simple task of finding a good book worthy of being eaten, Lillian was questioning her own abilities as a bookworm when the familiar scent of a high-quality book caught her by surprise. Exhausted from locating the source of the smell, she required a short rest against its hard, thin spine before having any desire to further assess her surroundings. Beautiful illustrations that reeked of love adorned each of the books around her and the paper inside every cover was of such a high quality that Lillian could hear the words themselves bursting with appreciation. The books made Lillian feel an odd mixture of familiarity and newness at the same time and, as she pushed back the cover of the book she was on and took her first bite of a real book in a very long time, Lillian remembered what her mother had always told her. “Don’t be afraid to revisit a book you did not like the first time, for as you get older your tastes will change and you get the joy of experiencing the story as if it were the first time.” Lillian chewed her way through every thoughtful word and hand-drawn picture, enjoying the satisfaction only the best quality books can bring before putting her head down and resting until the early morning.

With his hands resting on his bony hips on the outside of his grey suit jacket and a wide grin on his face, Peter McFrederickson stood amongst the crowds in the Town Centre, admiring the modest stall symbolising his most impressive achievement to date: Mr McFrederickson’s Umbrella Emporium. Mr McFrederickson reached into his pocket and took out his watch, its golden hands informing him that he only had two minutes and fifty-three seconds before opening time. He slid his watch back into his suit pocket and weaved his way through the sea of important business people travelling in the opposite direction on their way to work. “Excuse me. Sorry. Pardon me. Whoops. Coming through.” Leaning against the back entrance to his stall, Mr McFrederickson reflected for a moment on the recent newspaper article he had read stating that the best salesmen were always smiling before reapplying the grin on his face. He took a deep breath, entered the stall and opened the shutters to the public for the first time.

Six months and thirteen days before opening his umbrella emporium, Mr McFrederickson had invented a peeler designed to remove the skin from every fruit and vegetable known to exist. He was planning to meet with Charleville’s local shopkeeper who was interested in buying half a dozen of these wonderful peelers for the good people of the small desert town. The deal, of course, fell through after the shopkeeper broke the bad news to Mr McFrederickson that, since they were a desert town, there wasn’t actually a great deal of fruit and vegetables to be found. Having caught four separate trains to get to the town, Mr McFrederickson was more than a little down when on the long journey home. Rain poured from the sky as Mr McFrederickson trudged his way from one train to the next, soaking everything that hung from his frail body including his suit and his briefcase. Not having had the foresight to pack an umbrella due to the bright, blue skies greeting him in the morning, Mr McFrederickson found himself wishing for a convenient place from which to purchase an umbrella. Discovering that no such place existed, Mr McFrederickson decided that he would solve the problem himself and for others in the same position. Imagine never being caught without an umbrella ever again.

A wave of people wearing black suits and long jackets rolled past his stall. “Umbrella, Sir? Excuse me, Sir? Ma’am, do you need a new umbrella?” Mr McFrederickson jumped back as a burly man wearing a large monocle appeared suddenly on the other side of the counter, squinting and frowning while inspecting the entire contents of the stall. “Hmmmmmmm,” remarked the burly man as he examined Mr McFrederickson from head to toe. “I do need a new umbrella, so I must admit that this ‘emporium’ is mightily convenient.” Mr McFrederickson was surprised that his own voice faltered so much, even when talking to a guaranteed customer. “Then you have come to the right place! Welcome to Mr McFrederickson’s Umbrella Emporium,” he commented, immediately shaking his head and looking down at the floor.
“Hmmmmmm. Yes. Yes. Alright then, my good man, you’ve convinced me to purchase your finest green umbrella, if you don’t mind.”
Mr McFrederickson lifted his head and reapplied his grin before nearly tripping over his own feet on his way to where he kept the green umbrellas. He rummaged through the bucket of umbrellas leaning against the wall of the stall as well as inspecting the umbrellas hanging from the ceiling rails. “Sorry, sir, you did say green, didn’t you? And, not grey?”
“Green, mah boy! Green! Cease messing about and fetch me your finest G-R-E-E-N umbrella!”
Mr McFrederickson inched his way back to the burly man. “I, uh, I’m afraid, well, ah, that we’re all out of green here at Mr McFrederickson’s Umbrella Emporium, sir.”
The man cupped his hands and brought them up to his mouth. “Well, what sort of ‘emporium’ is this? A terrible joke of an emporium, I’ll tell you! A blight on all emporiums everywhere is what you are, good sir!” And with that, the man was gone.

Then, the rain came. Not just a morning shower, either. Nor what the weatherman might call, light precipitation. On the contrary, this would be the most significant rain the town of Greenvale would see for decades to come. The line of people waiting to purchase the finest umbrellas stretched down the alleyway for a mile and, just twenty-seven minutes after its grand opening, Mr McFrederickson’s Umbrella Emporium had entirely sold out of every umbrella. The satisfied crowds cleared, revealing a lone, burly man staring at the stall from a distance. The sound of woollen socks squealing against the inside of expensive shoes filled the air as the man made his way towards Mr McFrederickson. “I will take whatever umbrella is left, my good man,” said the burly man softly while placing a large amount of money on the counter. Mr McFrederickson pressed a button under his desk, causing a large whirring sound on the sign at the front of his shop.
“Ahhhh. Sorry, Sir,” Mr McFrederickson responded with a grin on his face while reaching down to pick up half a dozen strange-looking devices to place on the counter in front of the burly man. “I’m afraid we’re now known as Mr McFrederickson’s Peeler Emporium, providing you with all of your essential peeler needs. How many peelers would you like today?” There was a moment of tension between the two men before the burly man pushed his money towards Mr McFrederickson. “I will take them all.”
Mr McFrederickson obliged, passing him all six peelers before closing the shutters and turning on his closed sign while grinning from ear to ear.

“Green Forever, green with me. Green perfection, green be free.”

There was no way out, so sitting cross-legged in the middle of the dirt path had become one of Jason Garrison’s favourite morning rituals. Over the past three months, Jason had trained his legs to hold this position for more than a few seconds, and he was now able to close his eyes, concentrate on improving his breathing, then get up and have enough energy to walk all day. Jason tried to ignore the distinct odour coming from the thick, green hedges on either side of where he sat, instead forcing his mind to think about his bedroom and how warm and comfortable sleeping in his own bed would make him feel. This was only his escape before another day of searching for an exit from the maze he had been stuck in for the past five months.

Green Forever.

Following the surprise restaurant dinner his grandparents had hosted for his seventh birthday, they finally gave Jason the nod to be able to open his presents. He pushed himself from his seat and nearly tripped over his own feet while rushing towards the table harbouring the gifts his friends and family had left for him. Gadgets. Clocks. Books. Clothes. All of the usual presents a boy of Jason’s age could expect to receive. Eventually, all that was left was the present wrapped in shiny, green paper. Bits of wrapping paper went flying through the air as Jason clawed his way to the present itself. Inside was a square piece of cardboard with some of the most exquisite writing on one side that Jason had ever seen. An invitation to Jason Garrison to connect with me in my maze. Squinting his eyes and bringing his eyebrows closer together, Jason turned the invitation around. In a similar style of handwriting, the words, Green Forever, were written over the top of a picture of an impressive garden maze.

Green with me.

Winding down the window of his grandparents’ car to get a clearer view of the maze as they pulled up in the deserted carpark, Jason was reminded of the year his sister convinced him to ride the ghost train at the local Greenvale show. He calmed down knowing that, on this occasion, his grandparents would be with him and that there were no tracks and nothing for him to be strapped into. Instead, metres upon metres of well-maintained hedges lined the maze walls, the dense greens of their leaves contrasting against the foggy sky. Putting his jumper on was Jason’s priority once the three of them were out of the car and it was fun to pretend that he could breathe out smoke while waiting for his grandparents to organise their belongings. The sounds of their boots on the gravel road were amplified in the silence as they made their way towards the small booth at the maze’s entrance. An elderly gentleman wearing a green, three-piece suit with a white tie grinned from inside the booth as the three of them approached. “Ahhhhh, Jason! Jason! Jason!” the old man exclaimed, revealing the yellow stains on his teeth. “Right. On. Time,” he said, pointing towards Jason with each syllable. Jason looked up at his grandad who motioned for him to hand the man the ticket. The man accepted the ticket without inspecting it and stepped out of the booth, giving away his short figure. “Come!” he yelled as he used his right hand to beckon them to make their way to the entrance of the maze. “Be green with me!”

Near a lake that was as clear as it was cold, an owl sat watching the world from the branch of a tree she called her home. The owl had woken up just after sunset, waiting for the perfect moment to begin hunting for mice. The owl, however, had already attempted to find the perfect time for the past three nights and was beginning to feel rather hungry because, according to her own calculations, the perfect time to begin hunting for mice had never presented itself. Her parents had made catching rodents look so effortless that she never considered the possibility that there might be anything more to hunting than finding the mouse, swooping down to pick it up and taking it back home. Her own recent experience suggested that mice did not actually want to be caught and that it was highly likely that they were actively trying to avoid the owl altogether. It was as if the mice did not care one bit whether the owl was hungry or not and this was something that confused the owl so much, she decided to ask them what their thoughts were on the situation.

Spotting several mice who had gathered by the log that had recently washed ashore, the owl flew down from her branch and started walking towards the mice. She knew that she wouldn’t be able to fly towards the mice as they would most certainly scatter once they spotted her, so she hoped that her new, friendlier approach would encourage them to have the decency to stay and have a polite conversation. This was far from the case. Owl was no more than ten steps away from the base of the tree trunk when she accidentally stepped on a pile of leaves, causing the mice to run away and hide as quickly as they could without a second thought.

By now, the owl was exhausted and extremely hungry. She was alone, and she was afraid she may never get to eat anything again. Tears streamed down her face and she sobbed so loudly that she caught the attention of a mouse who was known to wander off more than his parents would have liked. Despite the pleas from his mother and father, the mouse could not control his curiosity and made his way out from his place inside the log and timidly walked towards the large, crying owl.

“Whatchya cryin’ about?” the mouse asked when he was close enough to the owl.
The owl lifted her head out from her wings and wiped away some of her tears with the tips of her feathers. “I’m just so very hungry,” the owl whined. “And none of you mice will let me eat you!”
The owl’s comments naturally caught the mouse off guard and the more the mouse thought about it, the more he realised that he most certainly did not want to get eaten by the owl. Being an extremely considerate mouse, however, his mind immediately started to race in an internal quest to find an answer to the owl’s predicament. He asked the owl some questions to find out some more information.
“Are you sure you actually want to eat mice?” he asked in a quiet, squeaky voice.
The owl tilted her head to the side. “What on Earth do you mean?”
“It’s just that I don’t think I know of any mice who would like to be eaten. I know I certainly don’t want to be eaten, and I’m sure none of my family does either, so maybe you’ve got it wrong?”
By now, the owl was beginning to think that it would explain a great deal if she was wrong about wanting to eat mice. “What else is there?” she asked the mouse, searching for some ideas.
“Well, I know me and my family aren’t particularly fond of crickets.”
“Crickets?” asked the owl.
“Yeah. Crickets. Noisy little things they are. Keeping us up at night. I don’t think they’ve got any feelings at all. Pretty sure they’re crying out to be eaten actually. Why else would they give away their hiding spots all the time?”
The owl spent a few moments imagining hunting crickets and concluded that the idea might actually be quite appealing.

The owl flew back to her branch and considered in great depth what the mouse had told her. She listened with her keen senses for where the annoying cricket sounds were coming from and thought that she had nothing to lose by trying to hunt one. She sharpened her gaze, located a cricket and flew down out of her tree at a tremendous speed. By the time she’d made it to the bark where she’d spotted the cricket, it had already jumped away and was sitting in the long grass, appearing to mock the owl.

“Now, what lies has that young, tasty mouse been trying to tell you?” asked the cricket with a sly grin on his face. “Did he trick you out of eating him? Man, they’re smart those mice, I’ll tell you. Now, listen here young owl and you’ll have yourself a tasty meal before you know it.”

She lay on top of the plastic tablecloth, her heart racing whenever one of the Osborne family members walked close by. The wonderful smell of a freshly baked cake filled the room and there were already four or five presents wrapped neatly at the other end of the table. The balloon stared at the shiny, silver banner positioned perfectly on the wall at the opposite end of the living room with the multicoloured streamers hanging from the ceiling guiding her eyes back towards the table where she lay. The beauty of the room was spoiled by the direct view she had of the six white, six blue and six green balloons strategically bordering the edges where the walls met the ceiling.

When the packet she lived in was opened and a small hand reached in, choosing her to be the first to be blown up, the balloon could hardly believe her luck. Unfortunately, however, the small hand was attached to a small body with small lungs and an even smaller mouth meaning that, despite the small person’s best efforts, the balloon eventually ended up being tossed onto the table like an old rag and forgotten about for the rest of the day. The balloon knew enough to suspect that the Osbornes may have been avoiding her because someone had already picked her up, or perhaps it was her purple skin that kept them away, being that it didn’t match the colours of the other decorations.

The four members of the Osborne family were buzzing from one job to the next, organising the music for games or putting another round of party food in the oven. Being unable to contribute or play her part made the balloon feel more deflated than she already was. At one point, an older Osborne family member picked the balloon up from the table and held her gently in her frail hands for several seconds. Hardly able to contain her excitement, the balloon was sure that her special moment had arrived, only to be placed back down beside a warm dish that smelled of baked potatoes and cheese. With each new decoration that went up, it seemed increasingly less likely that the balloon would be able to contribute anything at all, making her curse the moment she was pulled from the packet first.

After some time, the sound of upbeat songs and children laughing filled the air, though the balloon found it all but impossible to enjoy the moment. People reached over her to get better access to the food, dripping red sauce on her skin as they took the food out of the warm dishes surrounding her. The balloon’s commitment to remain hopeful eventually paid off when the music was turned down and the guests gathered around the table where she had been sitting for most of the day. She suddenly felt herself being lifted off the table by another older Osborne, who wiped the sauce away with a napkin and started filling her with warm air. The guests’ eyes lit up when they saw the white stars covering her purple body, filling the balloon with a tremendous sense of belonging and accomplishment. She was careful to avoid the candles as she was passed to a young boy wearing a birthday hat. He smiled at the balloon and turned her away to better read a phrase written in cursive on the outside of her body. “Happy 8th Birthday,” he said.

The lights dimmed, and the crowd started singing the most beautiful song the balloon had ever heard.