Robert Paul Weston

“Here is a story that’s stranger than strange.
Before we begin you may want to arrange:
a blanket, a cushion, a comfortable seat,
and maybe some cocoa and something to eat.

I’ll warn you, of course, before we commence,
my story is eerie and full of suspense,
brimming with danger and narrow escapes,
and creatures of many remarkable shapes.

Dragons and ogres and gorgons and more,
and creatures you’ve not even heard of before.
And faraway places? There’s plenty of those!
(And menacing villains to tingle your toes.)

So ready your mettle and steady your heart.
It’s time for my story’s mysterious start...”
― Robert Paul Weston, Zorgamazoo

“Jiminy," says the old woman. The mothballs gleam with excitement and she claps her hands. "A wolf!"
"Gram!" Siobhan glares across the room. She turns to me. "You'll have to excuse her. She's real old. Wasn't a lot integrating between the species back in her day."
I pad over and put out a paw. "Pleased to meet you, madam."
She blushes, the varicose veins in her cheeks swelling with blood. Instead of taking my paw to shake, however, she turns it over as if it's a piece of bruised fruit in a market. "Hmmm..." She pores over my palm, nodding like a fortune-teller. Her spectacles slide comically down the bridge of her nose, and when she looks up at me, her face is full of mock astonishment. "Oh, my! What big teeth you have!" She giggles and kicks her slippered feet.
"Gram!!
The old elf claps her tiny hands. "I always wanted to say that!”
― Robert Paul Weston, Dust City