The stories churn in her head. She is just 12, but her thoughts have elevated to where her age has not yet.At nights, she fills up notebooks with her stories, of fairies, ghouls, soldiers, wars, voyages and dragons, capturing her imagination which usually moves faster than she can write.

“She is so gifted,” her papa sighs as he hands her mama yet another notebook. He lives in continuous disbelief of this prodigy he has produced.

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Years have now passed by, this girl has grown up. There she is, carrying a shopping bag in one hand, a toddler in the other. She rushes home, cooks dinner for her family, cleans up, puts the baby to bed. 

She sits to try again today, to write a story. But again, not a word comes out. She finds her mind drifting to the tasks that tomorrow is ready to hand out. 

She digs out the old notebooks, again. 

As she reads the fables that her own hand had written, her eyes swim in tears. 

There was one story that she had not thought about, the one that came in the way of her other stories- life.