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The sky is an endless blue, streaked with the vapour trails of sleek white aircraft.  The sea laps gently against the shore, small foamy wavelets darkening the golden sands.  The trees sway gently in the soft breeze, and the colourful birds sing piping tunes.  A turtle, one of the last of her kind, pulls herself from the breakers and starts her long journey up the beach.  She makes the slightest of noises while she digs a hole with her flippers, flicking sand in shimmery arcs.  Once her eggs have been laid, she covers them and returns to the sea.  You don't see any of this.  You're too busy, checking your phone to see if anyone else has seen anything interesting today.

 

Who?

"Where does the monster live?"
"I saw him go in that cave."
"Why does the monster roar?"
"That's just how monsters behave."
"What does the monster eat?"
"Honey and berries and fish."
"How does the monster fish?"
"A strike of the paw and a wish."
"Who is that person there?"
"The one all covered in hair?"
"With the big sharp teeth...yeah."
"Oh, don't worry that's not a monster, that's just a bear."
"Bear?"
"Bear."
"RUN!"

Bridge

If you looked closely, you could still see the shape of the bridge, as it had once been.  Over a hundred years ago, someone had looked upon this very same river, and devised a plan both practical and elegant to span the flow.  In those days, the details had been as carefully thought out as the structure; a wrought iron swirl here, a flower there, to blend the work into the landscape, to bring as much pleasure to look upon it as to walk over it.  The iron groaned again.  The red and white warning tape fluttered in the wind, its flimsy line holding back a crowd of curious onlookers.  Like a huge animal that had been infested with parasites, the bridge was now covered in padlocks.  All shapes and sizes and colours clung to its old black iron, and when they had run out of room on its flanks, they had started on each other, layer upon layer of bulbous metal ticks.  It was not picturesque here anymore.  There was no graceful arch, no people ambling along in the sunshine.  There was only the sad moans of the old creature in its death throes.  They hadn't meant to destroy it.  Just to leave a mark.  But now that special place, that graceful walk over the river was gone.

If wishes were horses...

"The Peppermill wishing fountain," Karen swept her hand dramatically in the direction of a rather small fountain in the courtyard of the old castle.  She was reading from the little glossy guide book - £2 from the gift shop.  "Legend says that if you drop an offering into the fountain, the fountain will grant you a wish to do with that item.  One story from 1605 tells of a young kitchen boy who dropped a bridle in the fountain and made a wish, and went on to become a knight who owned the best horse in the land."
Lauren wrinkled her brow thoughtfully.
"I wonder... if I dropped a tyre in there, would I get a Ferrari?"
"You'd probably get thrown out of the castle," Karen chuckled.  "It seems most people toss a coin in - look."  She pointed at the coppery layer of glittering discs at the fountain's base.
Lauren fished in her pockets.
"I don't have a coin," she sighed with disappointment.  "But..." She fished her phone out of her pocket.  "I could use a new phone."
"Oh, come on," Karen snorted.  "You're not going to throw your phone in there."
Lauren gave her old brick of a phone a long, pondering glance, and then tossed it into the water.
Plop!
It quickly sank to the bottom and settled among the pennies.
"I can't believe you just did that!" Karen gasped.  "Quick, fish it out, it might still work!"
"Wait, we have to give the fountain time to work!" Lauren insisted, holding her friend back.
Suddenly the phone started to ring, vibrating across the floor of the pool, and sending little bubbles to the surface.
Lauren glanced at Karen in surprise, then dipped her hand into the icy water and snatched the phone out, trailing a stream of little droplets as it came.  She hit the answer button and gingerly put the damp phone near her ear.
"Hello?"
"Hello Lauren Prince?" a cheerful voice asked in staticy tones.
"...yes..."
"This is Linda from the Phone Company.  Congratulations!  We're ringing to tell you that you're our lucky raffle winner this month and you've just won a state-of-the-art smart phone.  We'll be posting it to you by courier, and it should arrive in the next couple of days."
"Oh wow, thanks!"
"Have a nice day, Miss Prince!"
"Thanks, I will - bye!"  Lauren hung up.  "I don't believe it!"
"Who was that?" Karen asked
"I just won a new phone."
Karen stared at her for a few moments.
"Let's get a tyre."
Lauren nodded and they both hurried away, back towards the carpark.

Diary

The diary is bound in crusty leather, stiff and cracked with age.  A tiny lock still hangs on the clasp, although rust has eaten through the metal to the point that the book falls open when you pick it up.  You wonder who left it here, in the attic?  The previous owners perhaps?  You carefully turn to the front to see if there is a name, or something to identify the owner.  The ink, once black, has faded to a rusty brown.
You frown.  It's your own name.  What are the odds that someone who had lived here before had the same name as you?  That's funny.  You intend to put it down, maybe ring the previous owners of the house to see if they know who it belongs to, but you just have to peek at the first page.  It's dated 1785, and reads "I know you won't believe it yet, but yes, that is your name.  Yours.  I am you.  I was you.  Please, read on.  These are the things you'll need to know - the mistakes I've made, which you can fix."
You snap the diary shut with a shake of your head.  As if you'd fall for a joke as silly as that.  You put the diary to one side, and carry on clearing out the attic.

Looking for Direction

The tree is old.  Its thick, gnarled trunk and heavy boughs twist up and tower over and around you, blotting out the sky, the land, the river.  There is only the tree.  Its leaves are smooth and oval, tapering to a neat sharp point.  You reach out, running your fingers along one of the branches, feeling the rough ridges and rises of the bark.  You reach a cluster of leaves and spying a large, even blade you pluck it.  The leaf is silky smooth and soft, almost warm to the touch.  As you watch, the veins of the leaf begin to glow, spreading a yellow-green fluorescence along its length, and then splashing out onto its surface, until it is blazing with light.
You hold out your palm, and the leaf spins upwards, you can feel the air tickling your skin as it turns and turns... then it stops, pointing the way forward.  You note the direction, and gently take the leaf in your hand once more.  You say thank you to the tree for its gift, and bid it farewell, as you take the first step on your journey.

Stunning Views and a Prime Location

I was walking through the fields one day when I heard a huffing and puffing growing closer and closer, like someone had been running so hard they could barely catch their breath.
"Hello?" I called out, although I couldn't see anyone.  "Are you alright?"
The sound stopped but a few paces from me.  I was curious, and a little concerned now I couldn't hear the breath - what if the fellow had fainted or worse?  I made my way forward through the long grass towards the hedge, when:
"Ooof!"
I had stepped into someone, although I couldn't see them!
"Mind where you're going!" a voice cried out angrily.
"I... I can't see you!" I replied, more puzzled than afraid now.
All of a sudden a troll popped into view.  He was no higher than my waist, with a big nose and horns and massive feet, one of which he was hopping on, whilst rubbing the other. (Apparently I had stepped on it.)
"Oh my!" I exclaimed.  "I'm terribly sorry."
"Yes well, you humans are always tromping everywhere.  Stomp stomp, over my bridge, over my foot!" he mumbled crossly.
"I thought that was goats..." I ventured.
"Goats?  Why would goats build bridges?" he frowned.  "Anyway, I must hurry, I have a long way to go."
"Back to your bridge?"
"No, I'm moving."  He scooped up a stick, on the end of which was a loaded knotted hankerchief, and slung it over his shoulder.  "I want to upgrade - bigger bridge, quieter location."  He pointed behind me.
I turned and followed his point.
"I can't see a bridge.  I'm not even sure there are any rivers near here..."
"I'm not going for a river bridge.  I'm going to live under that bridge."
I looked again, and realised he was pointing into the sky.  A rainbow arced across a stormy grey, its colours bright and strong in the sunlight.
"The rainbow?"
"Yes.  But I have to hurry if I'm going to catch it.  Mind where you walk in future!"
And with that he was off again, flapping those big feet and huffing and puffing his way across the field, chasing the rainbow.  I often wonder now if the little troll made it to his new bridge, or if he's still running about trying to catch up with it.  Still, there are worse things to do than chase rainbows.