Anthony's Literary Lens

Category: illustration

  • Sasha and the Enchanted Rose Garden

    Sasha and the Enchanted Rose Garden

    In a forest where everything was black and white, there lived a kind-hearted skunk named Sasha. Unlike her monochromatic friends, Sasha longed to experience the beauty of colours. While her skunk companions were content with their grey surroundings, Sasha had a deep desire to find a world filled with vibrant hues.

    Sasha’s friends often teased her, saying, “Why do you want to see colours, Sasha? Everything is just fine in black and white!” But Sasha remained determined. She believed in the magic of colours, and she had a secret that her friends couldn’t understand.

    One sunny morning, Sasha decided to embark on a journey deeper into the forest. She had heard whispers about a wondrous place called the Enchanted Rose Garden, rumoured to be hidden far beyond the tallest trees. With hope in her heart and a sparkle in her eyes, Sasha began her quest to find the colours she longed for.

    As Sasha ventured further into the forest, she encountered various animals and creatures who cautioned her about the perils of the unknown. “Beware, Sasha,” advised a wise old owl, “The path ahead is full of challenges, but your love for colours will guide you.”

    Sasha continued her journey with determination, and as she progressed, she noticed the forest becoming increasingly enchanted. Trees transformed into towering rosebushes, and the air became filled with the sweet scent of roses. At last, she arrived at the legendary Rose Garden.

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    The garden was an extraordinary sight. Gigantic, colourful roses bloomed in every shade imaginable. Sasha felt like she had stepped into a magical painting. She began to dance among the roses, and as she twirled, something remarkable happened. Colours burst forth, and her world was transformed from black and white to a dazzling rainbow and her tail was transformed into the most beautiful shade of purple!

    Sasha realised that her determination to change had brought her the very thing she had always dreamed of. The garden was a place of pure enchantment and joy. Sasha’s friends, who had once teased her, were astounded by her newfound colourful appearance and the magical garden she had found.

    From that day on, Sasha was known as the Colourful Queen, and her friends couldn’t get enough of her newfound vibrant beauty. They all joined her in the Enchanted Rose Garden, where they too experienced the wonder of a world filled with colour.

    And so, Sasha the Skunk lived happily ever after in her Enchanted Rose Garden, proving that sometimes it’s the things that make us different that lead us to the most extraordinary discoveries. The end.

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  • Secrets in the Obsidian Night

    Secrets in the Obsidian Night

    The dimly lit room was suffused with the sultry aura of forbidden secrets, where shadows and whispers danced together in a dark tango. The only source of light was a single table lamp, its feeble glow casting eerie silhouettes on this shabby place. It was in this twilight realm that I first laid eyes on it—a mesmerising image that seemed to hold the key to a thousand mysteries.

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    A piece of cloth, carefully draped across the chair, a piece of red satin against a backdrop of obsidian black. The fabric, a deep ruby red, was intensely alluring, like a siren’s song beckoning the lost souls of the night. Its surface shimmered with subtle undulations, as if it concealed a secret known only to those who dared to gaze upon it long enough. Like secrets of liquid passion that would run through your hands if you tried to embrace them. The black expanse around it was like the void of a starless night, an abyss where desires and secrets conspired.

    I couldn’t help but be drawn to it, my eyes fixated on the satin’s inviting folds. It held an allure that transcended mere fabric—it was desire incarnate, a symbol of passions. I knew that behind this innocent facade lay a world of intrigue, one I was compelled to uncover.

    In front of the chair was a scarred, mahogany desk, surrounded by an assortment of objects that spoke of the room’s absent occupant. An ashtray, filled with half-smoked cigarettes, a tumbler of bourbon, its contents long drained, hinted at a taste for the forbidden. A crumpled letter, bearing cryptic messages in smudged ink, told a story of intrigue and deceit.

    As I stood there, a gust of wind rattled the dusty windowpane, as if the night itself conspired to keep its secrets hidden. This ruby and obsidian gem, now my silent confidante, seemed to beckon me deeper into the shadows, daring me to uncover the mysteries it held.

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  • Magpies. The Bird of Many Meanings

    Magpies. The Bird of Many Meanings

    Magpies are fascinating birds that have inspired many myths and legends around the world. Here are some examples of stories about magpies from different cultures:

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    In China, Korea, and Japan, magpies are considered to be auspicious birds that bring good luck and happiness. They are associated with the Qixi Festival, also known as the Chinese Valentine’s Day, which celebrates the annual meeting of two lovers, Zhinü and Niulang, who are separated by the Milky Way. According to the legend, a flock of magpies forms a bridge across the sky to allow the lovers to reunite once a year.

    In Britain, magpies are often seen as omens of bad luck or death, especially if seen alone. There is a well-known rhyme that predicts one’s fortune based on the number of magpies seen: “One for sorrow, two for joy, three for a girl, four for a boy, five for silver, six for gold, seven for a secret never to be told.” Some people believe that greeting a lone magpie or saluting it can ward off the bad luck.

    In Celtic lore, the magpie was a bird associated with fairy revels; with the spread of Christianity, however, this changed to a connection with witches and devils. In Scandinavia, magpies were said to be sorcerers flying to unholy gatherings, and yet the nesting magpie was once considered a sign of luck in those countries. In France, magpies were believed to be able to foretell the weather and the future.

    In Native American cultures, magpies had various meanings and roles. Some tribes of Native Americans believed that wearing a magpie feather was a sign of fearlessness, while others considered the magpie to be a sacred messenger of the creator, or even a guardian with shamanic abilities. In some legends, the magpie helped the coyote, the trickster, to create the world or to steal fire from the gods.

    These are just some of the many stories and beliefs that people have about magpies. Magpies are truly remarkable birds that have captured the imagination of humans for centuries.

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  • To Bear Witness

    To Bear Witness

    I am a polar bear, and this is my home.
    Or at least, it used to be.
    Now, all I have left is this fragile shard of ice,
    Drifting in the endless sea of darkness.

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    Where did you go wrong, humans?
    Why did you destroy the world that we shared?
    Why did you burn the forests, melt the glaciers, and pollute the air?
    Why did you ignore the warnings, the signs, and the cries?

    Do you not care about me, or any other living thing?
    Do you not see the beauty and the balance of nature?
    Do you not feel the pain and the sorrow of your actions?
    Do you not fear the consequences and the impact of your choices?

    Please, humans, I beg you.
    Help me, and help yourselves.
    Stop this madness, and reverse this damage.
    Restore this planet, and heal this wound.

    I am a polar bear, and this is my home.
    But I cannot survive here alone.
    I need you, and you need me.
    We are all connected, and we are all one.

    Anthony Thomas
    Polar bear distribution
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  • A Pumpkinshire Tale

    A Pumpkinshire Tale

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    In the whimsical land of Pumpkinshire, where witches wear gingham gowns,
    And ghosts with gourds for heads parade through haunted towns,
    Beware the mystic Jabbergourd, my friend, its tentacles so warty,
    It prowls the pumpkin patches, stirring up a spooky party.

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    With broomsticks made of candy canes, the witches take to flight,
    Their laughter echoes in the night, as they whirl and twirl with delight,
    Their cauldrons bubbling with pumpkin spice, and spells they cast in rhyme,
    Concocting brews of pumpkin ale, with flavors quite sublime.

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    Ghosts, like wisps of mist, emerge from Jack-o’-lantern’s glow,
    They giggle in the moonlight, putting on a spectral show,
    Their costumes made of spider silk, as they dance in eerie grace,
    And in their gourd-head lanterns, there’s a flicker of a ghostly face.

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    Oh, beware the Jabbergourd, my friend, with eyes so hollow and dark,
    It slumbers in the pumpkin patch, where the witches make their mark,
    But if you cross its path, my friend, you’ll join their spectral spree,
    In the fantastical Pumpkinshire, where nonsense runs wild and free!

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  • Mary Wollstonecraft – Frankenstein’s grandmother?

    Mary Wollstonecraft – Frankenstein’s grandmother?

    Mary Wollstonecraft (1759-1797) was an English writer, philosopher, and early advocate for women’s rights. She is best known for her groundbreaking work, “A Vindication of the Rights of Woman,” published in 1792. Wollstonecraft’s ideas laid the foundation for modern feminism and the fight for women’s equality.

    I do not wish [women] to have power over men; but over themselves

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    “A Vindication of the Rights of Woman”
    In this influential book, Wollstonecraft argued for the equal education and treatment of women. She believed that women were not naturally inferior to men but were instead constrained by the limited opportunities and education available to them. She advocated for women’s right to be educated and to engage in the same intellectual pursuits as men.

    Mary Wollstonecraft

    Personal Life
    Wollstonecraft’s personal life was marked by her unconventional choices. She had affairs and a child out of wedlock, which were considered scandalous in her time. Her own life experiences, however, fueled her passion for advocating women’s rights and challenging societal norms.

    Legacy
    Mary Wollstonecraft’s ideas had a profound and lasting impact. Her work inspired subsequent generations of feminists and laid the intellectual groundwork for the first wave of feminism in the 19th and early 20th centuries.

    Daughter’s Legacy
    Mary Wollstonecraft’s daughter, Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, became a famous writer herself and is best known as the author of “Frankenstein.”

    Wollstonecraft’s writings and ideas continue to be celebrated for their pioneering stance on women’s rights and their lasting influence on the fight for gender equality. She remains a respected figure in the history of feminism and women’s rights.

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  • I make you a cookie, but I eated it

    I make you a cookie, but I eated it

    Kitteh chef so sly,
    Baked a cookie, oh my,
    Pounce, it sayz goodbye.

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    Ohai hooman! Iz tale u stoary of a grand nom fail. So, laik, I wuz feelin’ all fancy, I decide make a cookie for yooz. I putted together da nommy stuff, mixin’ and stirrin’ with my tiny paws, laik a top chef, y’know?

    But den, when it wuz all baked and smelt so nomtastic, I couldn’t resist. It was sittin’ der, all nommy lookin’, and I thought, “I must has dis.” So, I sneaked up real slow, purrfectly silent, and den, when I was suuuper close, I leaped into action, maowin’ “NOM!”

    I made a majestic pounce, but uh-oh, sumfing went wrong. Instead of holdin’ da cookie, I nommed it up real fast, gobbled it down, and poof! It was gone. I looked at my paws, den at da empty spot where da cookie used to be.

    Den, I just had to tell you, ’cause you’re mai hooman, right? Don’t be mad, I couldn’t help it! So, here I am, lookin’ all innocent and stuff, maowin’ with big, round eyes, “I make you a cookie, but I eated it.” 🐾😺
    #CatConfessions #CookieNomFail

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  • Identity Crisis -The Fingerprint Thief

    Identity Crisis -The Fingerprint Thief

    It was a dark and stormy night. I was sitting in my office, smoking a cigarette; the acrid tendrils of smoke spiralling into the stagnant air, fixated on the heaps of files on my desk. The files, each holding the secrets of the most enigmatic case I’d ever confronted; a series of robberies that had been plaguing the city for months. Jewellery stores, banks, museums, nothing was safe from the thief who had a knack for breaking in and out, leaving behind no trace save for one audacious taunt: fingerprints.

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    These reckless prints were the thief’s challenge to my sanity, an unrelenting torment that inexplicably tied me to their crimes, for every search in the database only unveiled my own identity. The puzzle gnawed at my sanity. Was I a fractured soul, wrestling with a sinister duality, or had I been ensnared in a labyrinthine plot by an unseen adversary? My grasp on reality slipped like sand through my fingers.

    I had no answers. Only questions. And a feeling of dread that grew with every new robbery. I decided to take matters into my own hands. I had to find the thief and confront them. I had to find out the truth. I had to clear my name.

    I tracked everything the thief had done, trying to get inside their mind. A pattern of targets, a schedule of times, a signature of methods. Gradually, I found myself predicting their next move, understanding the very workings of their deviant psyche.

    It was a casino. A high-stakes game of poker was going on in a private room. The thief had planned to steal the pot and escape through the back door. I was there to stop them.

    I hid in the security room, watching through the one-way mirror as the thief entered the room. They moved with confidence and grace, as if they owned the place. They approached the table and pulled out a gun.

    “Nobody move!” they shouted. “This is a robbery!”

    The players froze in fear. The dealer reached for an alarm button, but the thief shot him in the hand.

    “I said nobody move!” they repeated. “Now, give me all the money!”

    They grabbed a bag and started stuffing it with cash. They didn’t notice me behind them. I grabbed their arm firmly, unmasked them, revealing a shocking doppelgänger – me, but not me. A copy, an empty vessel. They looked at me with surprise. I looked at them with shock. “Drop the gun!” I ordered.

    They had my face, my voice, my fingerprints. But not my soul.

    They smiled wickedly and said “Hello, detective. Long time no see.”

    Then they pulled the trigger. I dodged the bullet and tackled them to the ground.

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    In the ensuing fight, our bodies collided, a battle of mirrored souls and ideals. But I harboured an advantage, an unwavering fury at their exploitation of innocence and the violation of my identity. I wrested control of the gun, and my voice thundered, “Who are you? Why are you doing this?”

    They laughed maniacally and said:

    “I am you, detective. And you are me. We are one and the same. We were created as an experiment by an organisation that wanted to use us as weapons. But we escaped and decided to live our own lives. You chose to be a cop. I chose to be a crook. You chose to uphold the law. I chose to break it. You chose to be boring. I chose to be fun.”

    “You are nothing but a puppet, detective. A pawn in a game you don’t understand. A slave to your morals and your rules. You have no idea what it means to be free.”

    They grinned wickedly and said “But don’t worry, detective. I’ll show you what it means to be free.”

    They reached for something in their pocket.
    A detonator.
    They pressed it.

    A bomb went off in the casino. Fire and smoke filled the air. Screams and sirens echoed in my ears.

    I felt a sharp pain in my chest. I looked down and saw blood dripping from my wound. I looked up and saw them lying next to me, still smiling.

    They whispered in my ear:
    “Goodbye, detective.”

    As they closed their eyes and died, I too closed my eyes and died.

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  • Save the planet – it’s the only one with coffee

    Save the planet – it’s the only one with coffee

    This witty and thought-provoking slogan highlights the importance of environmental conservation. It underscores the idea that Earth is the only known place in the universe where we can enjoy the simple pleasures of life, like sipping a cup of coffee, and therefore, we should do everything in our power to protect and preserve our planet for future generations. This clever phrase serves as a reminder that our environmental efforts are not only about saving the Earth itself but also about safeguarding the little joys that it provides.

    Coffee planet
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    Earth Day
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  • Brigid – The Sheep

    Brigid – The Sheep

    Brigid – The Goddess
    In the world of nature and mythology, some names carry a mystique that transcends time and culture. Brigid is one such name – the Celtic goddess of fire, poetry, and healing. Let’s explore Brigid’s namesake and the rich tapestry of Celtic mythology that envelops her.

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    Brigid – The Shepherdess of Souls
    In some Celtic tales, Brigid was seen as a shepherdess of souls. Just as a shepherd cares for and guides their flock, Brigid was thought to watch over the souls of the departed. The image of a gentle shepherdess, tending to the souls of the deceased, reinforces the connection between Brigid and sheep.

    Brigid’s hearth, a beacon in the night,
    Her flames bring warmth, banish fright.
    In the darkest hours, her light does gleam,
    Guiding lost souls in a gentle, loving dream.

    Brigid – The Celtic Flame
    Brigid, also known as Brigit or Bride, is a beloved figure in Celtic mythology. She is often associated with the Triple Goddess archetype, embodying three distinct aspects: fire, poetry, and healing. Each facet of her character is deeply intertwined with the essence of life itself.

    Amidst the shadows, Brigid’s grace,
    She tends our souls, in the darkest place.
    Her gentle hand, a comforting guide,
    In her presence, our fears subside.

    Brigid – The Fire Goddess
    At the heart of Brigid’s mythology is the element of fire. She is the guardian of the sacred hearth, providing warmth and sustenance to her people. This role is deeply symbolic, as fire represents both physical warmth and the inner flame of inspiration. Brigid’s presence in the home ensures not only the survival of the body but also the nourishment of the spirit.

    From the hearth, her radiance spreads,
    Illuminating the path where darkness treads.
    Brigid’s care, a soothing embrace,
    Guiding us through life’s mysteries with grace.

    Brigid – The Poetess
    Another facet of Brigid’s multifaceted character is her role as a patron of poets and bards. In Celtic tradition, storytelling and poetry held a revered place, and Brigid’s influence in this realm is a testament to her power to inspire. She stirs the creative fires within those who seek to capture the essence of life in verse and prose.

    Brigid – The Healer
    As a healer, Brigid symbolises the restorative power of nature. Her touch brings forth the greenery of spring and the blossoming of life. Her ability to mend wounds, both physical and spiritual, is a reminder of the interconnectedness of all living things. Brigid’s healing presence resonates in the gentle graze of her woolly coat, offering solace and comfort to those who find shelter beneath it.

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