Daniel was clad in an orange nightie, and mixed matched flip flops which slapped as it made harsh contact with the porcelain tiles with each bold step he took. He wasn't happy.

Many eyes watched him from various corners, whispering and murmuring to one another as he advanced to a door which bore the sign 'DIRECTOR' at the top. Shoving the door open with his hands, he marched in, leaving the door to bang on its frame as it returned. Mr. Aman, bald and a little over fifty, sat behind his desk stretching his hands on the fine-textured surface. The florescent light, much like the one he had back home, brightened the room leaving bits of shadows on the side of his face.

"What do you mean you're canceling the contract!" he exclaimed. He couldn't believe it when he received a phone call at the call of the morning. The vile news refused to let him think, that was why he stood in front of his publisher without a thought of the clothes he wore.

"How could you do this to me?" he added placing his weight on one of his legs and his hands rigid on his waist where they laid. It was a matter of life or death for him and the latter is what he was about to face. "I won't do it. I can't let you cancel," he said. "I've generated profits for this company. I've made you what you are today." It was the truth in fact, his previous books sold a lot in the past, generating thousands of dollars for the company.

Mr. Aman inclined his head upwards and for the first time he entered to finally look at him. He squinted from the blinding lights, his cheeks puffed from the air he blew in them. Daniel had known him for a long time, for about ten years they maintained a steady relationship since they met in a bar where he frequented back when he was younger. They had hit it off instantly when he mentioned his love for books, and him wanting to be a writer posed the right friendship he always wanted.

Instead of him to address what he came for, he called out on what her wore. "Mixed match flip flops really? I never took you for a fashion killer." he spoke in his Nigerian accent. "And orange nightie?" he snickered.

"It's not like I had any choice," he stated. And really, he didn't for his career was on the line.

"You always had a choice Daniel. Always have and always will," he stood up, rounding the table to the coffee machine on the side. "I gave you one, remember?" Of course Daniel remembered what he spoke of, all the motivational speeches he gave him when the first part of Zyca declined in sales.

"It wasn't my fault I was burning to write about-"

"Your dream?" Mr. Aman completed click the on button on the coffee maker. "A dream that put you in the mess you're in. A dream that lost you millions and not to forget it was a dream that landed you below the author ranks. Now tell me do you still fancy that dream?"

The words he said rendered him speechless; he didn't know what to say nor how to reply him. Did he really fancy that dream? Or was it the olive-skinned hero he dreamt about that made him grab his laptop at early hours to write about her adventures. And now he was in a deeper mess because he stopped having such dreams when he wrote the last chapter – the chapter that got her into the human world.

"I told you the third part will be better than the other two," he finally said. "I can assure you."

"Then give it to me," he replied immediately. "I want to see this part you keep yapping about," he took a sip of his coffee.

"It's not ready," he gritted his teeth. "Like I said the many times you asked."

"Then goodbye Mr. Stone," Mr. Aman said nonchalantly taking another sip from the cup.

"Listen here Mr. Aman, you can't choose to cancel the contract because I quit," Daniel started to the door, his face morphed in anger.

Unbelievable.

"You do know you have to return the house you live in."

Daniel twirled around so fast he felt a crack in his spine. "What do you mean?" he asked stabbing his finger on his chest as he spoke. "You want me to return the house?"

"Exactly what I said. The Hermitage house belongs to our company and since you'll no longer be with us – the house is no longer yours to have."

"That's shitty. Even for you," he narrowed his eyes.

"It's business," he replied sternly.

His head began to ache to the rhythm of his heartbeat which began to escalate by the second, for his worse fears were about to turn a reality. How could he do this to him, after years of friendships they shared, burger's they ate at the local drive in every Sunday morning rating low grade books, and their wrongs? Definitely karma.

"Where do you then want me to live? ON THE STREETS!"

"You can't possibly be broke. And beside you have parents, live with em."

Damn that bastard. He knew all too well what living with his parents could do to him; they would drive him insane, no doubt about that. He watched his boss walk back to his chair and slumped on it searching in his drawers. He hoped he would fall off and die and his body rot in the desert for animals to feed on; Hyena's perhaps.

His soon to be ex-boss produced a white paper from his drawers and placed it on the desk. "I want this to be signed as soon as possible – Today preferably," so this was actually happening to him? His career flushed down the drain.

"I'll sign it now," Daniel strode to the other side of the table, took a pen on the table and signed away at the bottom of the paper. There was no need to plead to stay – the looks Mr. Aman spotted told him, his mind was already made up.

"Goodbye Mr. Stone."

"Likewise," he said slamming the capped pen on the desk.

Daniel jerked open the door once again to which it returned with the same force as before. With his head held high, hands balled into a tight fist, he tugged down the hallway filled with the irritating whispers of the workers. He knew the news of his dismissal must have gotten to them but he wanted to pretend all was well till he walked out the building, and that was what he did.

****

The two-story mansion which contained so many memories graced his eyes from where he stood with only a box of suitcase in his hands. He wondered if he was actually going to miss the place where he had written so many of his books. 'A WILLOW I N PAIN' the first book he wrote the first time he moved in about a forbidden romance in a house similar to his. It was like he moved in centuries ago; two years? Three? He couldn't even remember.

He was glad he didn't keep close relationships with anyone, well except Mr. Aman obviously, and it's not like he could still call them friends anymore. But besides him, he never made any longtime friends. It was either hi, hello and goodbye, or a simple nod of the head when introduced; he thought staying alone in the midst of his book was better than having a relationship that could end in a blink of an eye, like his dead wife.

The sudden blaring of a horn from a black striped on yellow taxi took him away from his thoughts. It wasn't long before he shoved his black suitcase in the back seat and got in along with it. And off they went to the other side of town, towards the sea to be precise – to the place he grew up in, to the place that held the most memories, to where he first met Julia. It was his birth home.

Exactly two hours and three minutes, the taxi jerked to a stop in front of the home he dreaded to visit and now it was where he was going to live until he found his footing again. Lucky enough his parents went on a getaway to the Bahamas for a few days leaving the old butler to his service; he didn't know how long but he wished they stayed there for a very long time.

Everything was just as he left it, vintage with a little touch of modernization, it defined his father (vintage) and his step mother (modern) taste.

****

It was dark and dusty; the sky was just like the ones they had back in genie realm except this one had tiny shinning things pasted on them. She didn't know what they were. Maybe they granted wishes just like what she was about to do. She recalled the words Mrs. Aster told her the night before her departure,

"A year at most – that's how long my husband and I can stall your sister's awakening," that meant she had a year to find her father and get the crystal while hoping her new master doesn't exhaust all of his or her wishes.

Since she arrived, no human or a soul passed by. Were human scarce? Oh, if that were the case, she might as well go look for her master first and she knew it wouldn't be that difficult to find one, as the first person she saw would be her master.

Zyca tried getting up from where she swatted and mistakenly, slipped on a log of wood in the unlit furnace to which she yelped when she fell with a thud.

"Ouch," she rubbed her butt with her hands. That was very painful.

Clanking of glasses could be heard outside the house; a human perhaps she thought. Climbing to her feet, she hurried to the balcony, peering down the railing but to her disappointment no one was out there, just the cool breeze which blew her hair in all directions.

It had a fresh scent and a calming effect.

She closed her eyes, taking in the air with her hands cupping its invisibility onto her face.

Refreshing.

A silhouette, tall and bulgy from the other side made shuffling sounds as it made their way to the balcony, one of his hands held a white stick to which he took a smoky puff from and the other held a glass of brownish liquid; alcohol mayhap. It might have been the sound she heard.

Zyca could not take her eyes off the male who materialized from the shadows, his skin glittered probably from the shinning things in the sky, and his outfit showed more skin she never imagined she would see on a man's body.

The man stopped in his racks, running his eyes all over her body, from her toes to head, drinking in her features while she stood static unable to breath.

"I must be day dreaming," he huffed continuing his journey to the railing, turning his back until he rested on it. "I swear I need rehab," he took a sip out of his glass and another puff from the white stick.

He was beautiful and his voice sparked a beat in her heart. No, no.

Yes, she always thought Colt was handsome but the man who stood in front of her possessed so much more than he ever had. She couldn't help but run her eyes from his toe to head just like he'd done to her. He was huge and handsome from the depth of his eyes to the serene expression on his face and his skin was nothing she'd seen before, brown.

Zyca took a step forward but two three steps back, flinching as he threw the glass on the ground with so much force. The calm look on his face was replaced by one so angry and unstable.

"All these years Daniel, you let a dream control you," he said to no one. "And now everything's gone. GONE!" he slapped his legs on the cemented railing which didn't wobble like the time's Master Kane kicked the counter in his kitchen. "No more house! No more money! No more sales. Great! JUST FREAKING GREAT!" he smacked with his leg the railing once again and again and again. That's must be painful.

She understood going up to him at the moment was definitely a big no, so she watched him with a saddened look in her eyes as he inflicted pain on himself and for some reason, she felt the same pain in her heart.

The white stick was thrown down and kicked across all the way to the side, its dark end leaving an ashy substance in its wake. She noticed him bent over, vomiting a large pile of goo, green and gory on the ground.

Zyca couldn't help but ask out loud "Err...are you okay?" she took a step closer but the pesky smell emanating from him made her recoil, taking two steps backwards. He was drunk and angry. She'd seen Master Kane drunk one to many times, wobbling as he stood and the next minute leaning over one of his pottery – filling it with his guts. It was always disgusting cleaning his mess and now she has to do the same with her new master. Oh great.

Before she could contemplate going to him, the man fell face down into his own mess.

Disgusting.

----------------