Once upon a time? No... In a land far, far away? No... Okay, how about...

It was a cold stormy night? That's better.

It was a cold stormy night, and Wren couldn't sleep. Kept awake by the whistling of the wind, Wren tossed and turned in her strange, uncomfortable bed. Her imagination vivid, and her head filled with the thoughts of reality. Love. Hate. Peace. War. All floating around her head, mixing with the thoughts of the fiction she'd read, to create a masterpiece unseen by anyone. A life of reality, clouded with the untruth of novels, confusing anyone who tried to make sense of it. 

Falling. Slowly drifting further and further away. In a constant state of confusion, drifting past the point of no return. It all building up to nothing. The anti-climax of a surprise gone wrong. The point in which everything becomes one, and one becomes everything. She tried to reach out, screaming, but there was nothing but silence. The bitter silence of an empty space, but the pain of a noisy room, confusing the mind. Bittersweet. It was taking over, and she couldn't let it win. Let the pure confusion destroy her imagination. There was nothing she could do but try to understand the world around her.

The sadness came next. Filling the place where the confusion had once been. Still drifting further, the tears started to roll. The sadness took over, like the waves on a beach, drowning the sand. Words, harming her, more than anything else. Trying to escape the constant circle of pain, when the confusion came back. The reason behind the sadness was still unclear. Self doubt flooded her mind, like an avalanche in the mountains. She was suddenly self conscious, and more confusion came. Clouding her mind like clouds on the peak of a mountain. Trying to escape the fog, she tried reaching out again, but she was still drifting. She was now far past the point of no return, with no chance of escaping.

This was when the light appeared. The light at the end of the tunnel? There was a chance. Happiness was now the only emotion in Wren's mind, and she was glad. She was getting closer and closer to everything she ever loved once again. She was in a state of happinesd she was free from the tunnel. The confusion was over, and so was the sadness. Suddenly, Wren woke. It was bright and sunny outside, and she was feeling wide awake. She jumped out of bed and ran downstairs to find her mother and father in the kitchen making breakfast. Her imagination vivid, and her head filled with the ideas for her books. Love. Magic. Friendship. Smiles. All floating around her head, mixing with the thoughts of fiction she'd read, to create a magical masterpiece for Wren only. She had decide that she was going to write a story about her dream...

Little did she know, that was only the beginning.... 

In the Far East there was a great king who had no work to do. Every day,

and all day long, he sat on soft cushions and listened to stories. And no

matter what the story was about, he never grew tired of hearing it, even

though it was very long.

"There is only one fault that I find with your story," he often said: "it is

too short."

All the story-tellers in the world were invited to his palace; and some of

them told tales that were very long indeed. But the king was always sad

when a story was ended.

At last he sent word into every city and town and country place, offering a

prize to any one who should tell him an endless tale. He said,--

"To the man that will tell me a story which shall last forever, I will give

my fairest daughter for his wife; and I will make him my heir, and he

shall be king after me."

But this was not all. He added a very hard condition. "If any man shall try

to tell such a story and then fail, he shall have his head cut off."

The king's daughter was very pretty, and there were many young men in

that country who were willing to do anything to win her. But none of them

wanted to lose their heads, and so only a few tried for the prize.

One young man invented a story that lasted three months; but at the end

of that time, he could think of nothing more. His fate was a warning to

others, and it was a long time before another story-teller was so rash as

to try the king's patience.

But one day a stranger from the South came into the palace."Great king," he said, "is it true that you offer a prize to the man who can

tell a story that has no end?"

"It is true," said the king.

"And shall this man have your fairest daughter for his wife, and shall he

be your heir?"

"Yes, if he succeeds," said the king. "But if he fails, he shall lose his

head."

"Very well, then," said the stranger. "I have a pleasant story about

locusts which I would like to relate."

"Tell it," said the king. "I will listen to you."

The story-teller began his tale.

"Once upon a time a certain king seized upon all the corn in his country,

and stored it away in a strong granary. But a swarm of locusts came over

the land and saw where the grain had been put. After searching for many

days they found on the east side of the granary a crevice that was just

large enough for one locust to pass through at a time. So one locust went

in and carried away a grain of corn; then another locust went in and

carried away a grain of corn; then another locust went in and carried

away a grain of corn."

Day after day, week after week, the man kept on saying, "Then another

locust went in and carried away a grain of corn."

A month passed; a year passed. At the end of two years, the king said,--

"How much longer will the locusts be going in and carrying away corn?"

"O king!" said the story-teller, "they have as yet cleared only one cubit;

and there are many thousand cubits in the granary.""Man, man!" cried the king, "you will drive me mad. I can listen to it no

longer. Take my daughter; be my heir; rule my kingdom. But do not let

me hear another word about those horrible locusts!"

And so the strange story-teller married the king's daughter. And he lived

happily in the land for many years. But his father-in-law, the king, did not

care to listen to any more stories.

IT WAS a dark autumn night. The old banker was walking up and down his study

and remembering how, fifteen years before, he had given a party one autumn

evening. There had been many clever men there, and there had been interesting

conversations. Among other things they had talked of capital punishment. The

majority of the guests, among whom were many journalists and intellectual men,

disapproved of the death penalty. They considered that form of punishment out of

date, immoral, and unsuitable for Christian States. In the opinion of some of them

the death penalty ought to be replaced everywhere by imprisonment for life.

"I don't agree with you," said their host the banker. "I have not tried either the

death penalty or imprisonment for life, but if one may judge _a priori_, the death

penalty is more moral and more humane than imprisonment for life. Capital

punishment kills a man at once, but lifelong imprisonment kills him slowly. Which

executioner is the more humane, he who kills you in a few minutes or he who

drags the life out of you in the course of many years?"

"Both are equally immoral," observed one of the guests, "for they both have the

same object -- to take away life. The State is not God. It has not the right to take

away what it cannot restore when it wants to."

Among the guests was a young lawyer, a young man of five-and-twenty. When he

was asked his opinion, he said:

"The death sentence and the life sentence are equally immoral, but if I had to

choose between the death penalty and imprisonment for life, I would certainly

choose the second. To live anyhow is better than not at all."

A lively discussion arose. The banker, who was younger and more nervous in those

days, was suddenly carried away by excitement; he struck the table with his fist

and shouted at the young man:

"It's not true! I'll bet you two millions you wouldn't stay in solitary confinement for

five years."

"If you mean that in earnest," said the young man, "I'll take the bet, but I would

stay not five but fifteen years.""Fifteen? Done!" cried the banker. "Gentlemen, I stake two millions!"

"Agreed! You stake your millions and I stake my freedom!" said the young man.

And this wild, senseless bet was carried out! The banker, spoilt and frivolous, with

millions beyond his reckoning, was delighted at the bet. At supper he made fun of

the young man, and said:

"Think better of it, young man, while there is still time. To me two millions are a

trifle, but you are losing three or four of the best years of your life. I say three or

four, because you won't stay longer. Don't forget either, you unhappy man, that

voluntary confinement is a great deal harder to bear than compulsory. The thought

that you have the right to step out in liberty at any moment will poison your whole

existence in prison. I am sorry for you."

And now the banker, walking to and fro, remembered all this, and asked himself:

"What was the object of that bet? What is the good of that man's losing fifteen

years of his life and my throwing away two millions? Can it prove that the death

penalty is better or worse than imprisonment for life? No, no. It was all nonsensical

and meaningless. On my part it was the caprice of a pampered man, and on his

part simple greed for money. . . ."

Then he remembered what followed that evening. It was decided that the young

man should spend the years of his captivity under the strictest supervision in one

of the lodges in the banker's garden. It was agreed that for fifteen years he should

not be free to cross the threshold of the lodge, to see human beings, to hear the

human voice, or to receive letters and newspapers. He was allowed to have a

musical instrument and books, and was allowed to write letters, to drink wine, and

to smoke. By the terms of the agreement, the only relations he could have with

the outer world were by a little window made purposely for that object. He might

have anything he wanted -- books, music, wine, and so on -- in any quantity he

desired by writing an order, but could only receive them through the window. The

agreement provided for every detail and every trifle that would make his

imprisonment strictly solitary, and bound the young man to stay there _exactly_

fifteen years, beginning from twelve o'clock of November 14, 1870, and ending at

twelve o'clock of November 14, 1885. The slightest attempt on his part to break

the conditions, if only two minutes before the end, released the banker from the

obligation to pay him two millions.

For the first year of his confinement, as far as one could judge from his brief notes,

the prisoner suffered severely from loneliness and depression. The sounds of the

piano could be heard continually day and night from his lodge. He refused wine