| White Weewoos don't exist. *shifty eyes* |
Circulation: 197,890,946 |
Issue: 1025 | 24th day of Sleeping, Y27 |
|
| |
Continued Series
 | Wish-GrantingSkyleur stopped on the tower's third floor, cleared space on her old workbench--her chair and table were a ruin of cloth and wood, but the metal bench had only rusted through the years--and pressed the Colour Changing Tulip that had grown out of her tears.
by phadalusfish |  | Castle Planner's Journal: 1000 YearsDespite the rush of serving dinner being long over, The kitchens were still very much alive and busy with Pets cleaning up, and preparing for breakfast the next day.
by ferretboy85 |  | The Dream QuestIt took them three full days of travel to journey from the Grarrl Peninsula to south of the Desert of Roo, and several more days to wind their way through the dark and twisting Techo Caves.
by ellienib |  | Cavall's Three Days of GivingNot far from Meridell Castle was a spacious graveyard that honoured erstwhile employees of the castle. A wind had picked up, whistling through the blue Cybunny’s ears and rippling through his ruff as he walked past the barren bushes and bald trees, his boots crunching against a thin layer of snow on the ground.
by precious_katuch14 |  | A Meerca's Mission“Matatat,” he said. She extended her paw, so he hesitantly reached out and shook it. She had a strong, firm grip. “A pleasure to meet you.” Chuychu took a careful look at him, her head slightly tilted.
by weakestlink33 |  | Accessible JournalismWhen Ruby awoke that morning, a part of her hoped she’d hear the front door open, and Lana’s warm voice would fill the foyer. She and her sister would embrace, and after Lana finished telling her about her harrowing escape from Void-ridden Brightvale, they’d get to work on that article.
by hybatsu |
| |
|
Search the Neopian Times
Headlines
"Echoes in the Snow" by kadface
I knew that I was growing old when I really started getting into jazz. My old man was much the same. I remember every Sunday morning he would go into his library, take a record off the shelf, and set it on the record player. It was like a ritual. He would sit back in his brown leather chair, eyes closed, humming along, and tapping his feet. Whenever I picture him now, I see the sunlight coming through the window, lighting up the dust with a golden glow, spiral smoke rising from the Borovan as it slowly goes cold. It’s only recently that I have started to realise how much I miss those days. I find myself thinking about them more and more during the winter months, waiting for the days to lengthen and life to return. It was the third day of the Month of Sleeping, and the world had filled with snow and ice. I had taken down my Christmas tree, and I knew it would be the last time I played the Jazzmosis seasonal album until it went back up. Sitting in my own leather chair, I allowed my eyes to close with the heaviness of a long day’s work. Although I felt at peace, I had an air of melancholy that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. As I listened to the fireplace cracking, I was close...
Other Stories
---------
---------
 Echoes in the Snow
"I knew that I was growing old when I really started getting into jazz. My old man was much the same. I remember every Sunday morning he would..."
by kadface |
---------
---------
---------
---------
|
|
|
