Sweat beads downs my brow as I look starvingly for the cookie jar.

“Mom, can you help look for it,” I ask, my voice lanced with fear.

Mom doesn’t hear the desperation in my voice and responds, “Honey, it’s only a cookie jar.”

Only a cookie jar. _No_.

I look more ferocious, throwing things and causing a mess.

Where are you!

I look over to see a piece of ceramic on the floor beneath the table. Hungrily, I look under to find the cookie jar broke open…with the stone of despair.

The stone gleamed and glowed as tendrils of despair webbed throughout the house.

Oh no.