Sunny skies, cloudy skies. It’s all the same sky.
“Popper, get away from there!”
Another picnic out in the woods by the caverns. Popper, little girl of nine, liked to play by the caverns. Some of them started on the ground instead of the sides of mountains and cliffs. Popper liked to walk along the edges of the steep ones. It gives her chills and thrills.
Her friends came along to the picnic, but they never played with Popper. They were too scared, not of the caverns, but of Poppers. She was too wild for them and unpredictable. Popper didn’t even know what she’d do until she was doing it. Her mom says she’ll grow out of it at one point, but Popper didn’t know about that. She played and played by the caverns all by herself in her long shirt and goulashes.
“Popper, I said get away from there!” her mother was calling.
Want to know why she’s called Popper?
“Pop!” she giggled and jumped along the edge of a cavern going straight down. “Pop! Pop!” She jumped and kicked along the edge. “Pop! Pop!”
“You’re going to fall over!” her mother yelled.
Popper could see them all standing up. “Pop! Pop!” They were all coming towards her. “Pop! Pop!” She was going to get in so much trouble but she couldn’t care less. “Pop! Pop!”
“Popper, stop it,” her mother growled, about to grab her and pull her away.
“Pop! P–“
Schwish…

By now you’ve guessed it. Popper’s fallen. What kind of story would it be if she didn’t? A boring one, that’s what. Now let’s see what’s happened to dear old Popper.
Well you see, Popper fell down. She really fell. Down. Down. Down. Deep into the caverns. She fell and she kept falling. She fell until suddenly– Thud! Right on top of a bed of flowers.
“Oh dear! Tamira, a little body just smashed your flower garden,” a squeaky, cute voice calls out.
“I told you not to put it there. Those humans are always throwing their garbage down here,” someone who was not very happy said.
“Atzi, I think it is a human.”
“It can’t be…can it?”
“Tamira!” they were calling. “Tamira! Tamira! Tamira!”
“What is it, my dear friends?” a kind, tender voice whispers through the caves. They were tall, dressed in purple robes with golden threat and silver sashes. Their skin was white, white as fresh snowballs. She looked so tender and sweet. Her friends must have loved her so very much.
“Tamira, there’s a human in your garden,” went that squeaky voice from before. They were the same but smaller, much much smaller.
“They just fell,” went the second voice.
“Oh dear,” Tamira, the wise, muttered in complete shock. She has not seen a human in so long. She hoped they weren’t hurt. She walked up to the little body, our little Popper, and scooped her up into her big arms. “Oh dear child, why have you come here?” she whispers in its ears. “It’s better up top where it’s safe. Poor thing. You can never go back. Much too steep a climb for such a little child.”
But Popper could not hear Tamira speak. Popper was sleeping. She needed rest. Tamira brought her back to her home deep in the cave. She gave the child a nice warm bed to sleep in and nice warm cup of tea for when they woke up.
“Sleep my dear child, for there is much to do.”

Popper woke up and had not a clue of where she was. She woke up in a bed, covered in pink blankets and quilts. The room was a room, a normal room that she’s never seen before. It was brightly decorated from its flower wallpaper to the water lily rug. Pictures of smiles hung from the wall. Popper’s never seen anything this cheery before, and since she never thinks, she was walking out the door before she realized she didn’t belong here.
She walked into the hall and was met by a delicious smell, and Popper was just so hungry. She never got a bite of the picnic after all. She walked down the hall to the smell. Then she started to hear singing. Someone was humming.
That someone was Tamira, cooking in the kitchen. Popper walked in and since she was asleep early, she was alarmed by Tamira. She didn’t even know Tamira’s name.
“Oh, child, you are awake,” Tamira smiled down at her, stirring her pot. “I made you some tea. It’s in your room.” Popper just stood there, quiet and scared. “You must not have seen it. Here, have a popper.”
That made Popper jump and cry.
“Oh child, what is the matter?” Tamira was asking. “I just offered one of my poppers.” She picked a little white ball out of the pot and took Popper’s hand, placing the ball on her palm. “It’s very sweet. It’s made of honey and rice. The flavor just pops in your mouth,” Tamira smiled.
Popper calmed down, realizing the understanding, and she popped the popper in her mouth. “Umm…” She smiled. It did taste good. It was sweet and warm.
“I hoped you’d like it,” Tamira grinned at her. “What is your name, child? Mine is Tamira.”
“Pop!” Popper went again. “Pop-Pop Popper,” she was singing.
“Oh-oh,” Tamira laughed. “That is adorable. Say, would you like to help me deliver my poppers to some of my friends?”
Popper nodded. She wanted to help. Tamira didn’t scare here at all anymore. No monster could scare Popper.

Tamira bundled Popper up in a scarf and cap, saying it was cold down here in the caverns, very cold. She was not lying. Popper carried individually wrapped poppers in her arms and almost squished them when she caught a cold wind down her back.
There were other houses down in the caverns. Some were houses, made of wood or bricks. Some were huts, made of straw and twigs. There were metal houses shaped like fish. Monsters had a funny style when it came to building.
Popper passed through the yard of homes, passing out poppers to green monsters and yellow monsters, blue monsters and pink. She met furry monsters and scaly monsters. How many monsters did she meet? She didn’t know. Tamira talked to all of them, asking about their day and how they spent their weekend.
“How’s the wife and kids?” and “Have you lost feathers?”
On and on it went. Popper was starting to get bored with delivering poppers. She still carried them in her arms like little eggs. She waddled around like a bird in search of a nest. Then by surprise, she found one…almost. She found a pond, a glimmering dark pond with little pebbles by the shore. What fun she would have there. She carried her egg poppers to the edge of the water and watched as her reflection glittered and gleamed along the surface. Then all of a sudden, “Boo!”
Popper quietly jumped back and watched as a green ogre laughed. He was a funny-looking fellow: pointy ears, lumpy skin, dressed in fur and pelts, and a big fat nose.
“Sorry to scare you,” he snickered in a crackly voice. It was old and deep. “I just wanted to poke fun. Say, what are you doing here? Humans don’t live down here.”
Popper didn’t know why she was down here per say. She knew how, but she didn’t tell. She just kept quiet.
She pulled out a popper and handed it to the ogre, smiling with a happy “Pop!”
“Those are Tamira’s poppers aren’t they?” the ogre laughed. “I’d know that smell anywhere. She’s always cooking great stuff.”
The ogre and Popper ate poppers by the shore. The ogre said his name was Skrol. “Now don’t get that confused with Troll. I’m very sensitive about that.” They skipped rocks and threw pebbles into the pond. When Skrol said it was getting late, he walked her to Tamira’s house.
“Now be careful out here,” Skrol said as they were walking. “My brother, Skar, is a tricky ogre. He sets traps for people like you.”
Popper took the warning and thought not much on it. She got tired again and that’s when Tamira said it was time for bed. Skrol would meet her at the pond the next morning.

Skrol skipped rocks with Popper once again and gave her a second warning. “My brother saw us yesterday here, skipping rocks. He says he wants to trap you. Don’t know why. Watching us right now.”
Popper looked around and she saw no other ogres or green lumpy monsters with big fat noses. There were bushes by the pond, just off the shore under a tree. She could see them shaking. While Skrol was seeing how big a splash he could make with a boulder he found, Popper snuck up to the bushes. They tried to stop shaking, as she got closer. Popper started to notice two big eyes in the bushes, looking at her, looking mad. She was very close to the bushes. She took her finger and gave the bush a little poke, whispering, “Pop.”
“LooLooLoo! Eow!” A tall ogre jumped from the bushes, flailing its arms and screaming as it ran away down the path.
“There he goes again,” Skrol sighed, walking up behind Popper. “My brother’s one weird guy.”
Popper did think he was weird. He was funny too, but Popper much more rather skip rocks than get screamed at like that. She took a step by the tree and Whoosh! Up in a net she went.
“Hold on,” Skrol told her. “I’ll cut you down.”
She wasn’t that high up, maybe four feet. Skrol was easily able to reach up and cut the net open, catching her.
“There were go. Looks like you got snagged in one of Skar’s traps. He’s always setting them up everywhere. I can’t go to the kitchen at night without getting hung upside down.”
Popper wasn’t worried. That trap was easy to get out of. Even if she wouldn’t have Skrol with her, she could have just untied the knots.
Either way, she and Skrol continued to skip rocks and make waves in the water. Skrol told her stories and told her jokes. He gave her another warning though.
“I don’t know what my brother’s up to, but be careful where you step. He could be anywhere and so could his traps.”

Days went on and Popper was still stuck in the caverns. She hadn’t thought of leaving. She was having fun. Tamira taught her how to make poppers and other sweet delights. She and Skrol started trading off jokes and finding new places to play games. Popper would, occasionally, set off one of Skar’s trap that Skrol had warned her about, but they were harmless. In fact, they were fun. Her favorite so far is the cotton balls falling over the door. She walked outside and thought it was snowing. She and Skrol even had a cotton ball fight with Tamira.
Skar still screamed when Popper saw him though. That bothered her. It made her sad. Skrol said Skar wasn’t so bad once you got to know him, but Popper didn’t know him. She only knew that he liked trapping things and obviously he did not like her.

Years go on by and Popper still lives in the caves with Tamira, delivering poppers and skipping stones with Skrol. She learned the caverns had a library. She read all kinds of stories that fascinated her. She also learned how to avoid Skar’s traps, and eventually, she just stopped setting them off. It made her more than happy to not be caught in a net or trapped in a hole in the ground. That is…until one day…

Skroll and Popper were sitting by the pond, tossing in little pebbles to make tiny splashes. Popper was now twelve, and she still enjoyed going “Pop!” but only to be a tiny bit annoying or as a joke for Skrol. They sat on the shore and were telling stories and jokes all morning. Then all of a sudden, Popper heard feet dragging behind her. When she turned around, she found to her surprise it was Skar. Skar, who had a sad look on his face, bowed his head.
“Congratulations, human. You’ve bested all my traps,” he sighed heavily. “I do apologize for any trouble I may have caused. It’s just… You see… Ogres have hard troubles finding people who love them, and in all the books where they do find love, it involves a trap. It’s just what we ogres do. We trap pretty humans such as yourself, and you have only gotten more pretty since the day I first saw you at this very pond.”
Popper was flattered. No one has ever called her pretty except for Tamira, whose vote does not really count since she is now like a mother to Popper, but she was still flattered.
Popper offered Skar a hand of friendship. She liked Skar, and that was all, but maybe one day, she’ll know him and she will love him even more than she thought she would.
That day came years later. Popper, now sixteen, had spent just about everyday with Skroll and Skar, reading at the library, hiding behind the school, and swimming at the pond. She’s grown to really like the ogre brothers, but Skar seemed to be more wonderful every time Popper saw him. He’d help her pick out books, he held the door open for her, and he always told her how beautiful she looked. Popper liked how helpful he was, not just to her but also to everyone. He helped the fishermen carry the baskets of fishes. He helped the grocer bag groceries. He helped Tamira with cooking and delivering warm meals to the other monsters. Popper really grew to love Skar’s heart.

We grow older still. Popper is finally a woman able to live on her own. She goes to the library most days now and teaches the little monsters to read and write. Skar comes by every afternoon to share a lunch with her. Skrol used to come along, but as faith would have it, Skrol said he had things to do. Popper and Skar talked and talked about books and children, how much fun they must be having growing up.
This went on for not much longer. You see, for after a few weeks of talking, questions were finally asked and answers were given. Popper was now the beloved wife of Skar the Ogre. She was happy, so happy. They lived in a house by the gardens and they picnicked by the pond. Skrol and Tamira would come over for dinner and some well-wanted poppers.
“Pop!” Popper still went as she played with her little children on the living room floor. She’d chase them around and tell them stories. At the end of the day, she and Skar would tuck them in, wishing for safety and sweet dreams.
The children grew up. They finished school where Popper now taught. They found love of their own and went on to live their lives.
Soon Popper retired and stayed with Skar, sitting on the porch and reminiscing about the days when he’d try to trap her and she’d skip stones across the pond. Those were good old days. 
Not all days are good. Skar grew too old. He had passed away, leaving Popper to keep their lonely home company. She’d sit by herself on the porch all alone. “Pop,” she’d whispered, hoping Skar would just suddenly appear behind her.
Days went by and Popper grew older and older. One day, she just decided to go to the end of the cave and just sit. She didn’t realize it until she was there, but she was sitting in the garden, Tamira’s garden, where it all began. Years ago, she fell down her, just a little girl, no clue as to what was going to happen. She wouldn’t change it. She was happy down here. She had good friends who loved her and who she loved. She had children, all grown to happy adults. She wouldn’t change it.
“Pop,” Popper whispered one last time, and a glittery rope appeared in front of her. It went up, up, up. Up to the sky.
Her old bones were tired, yet she was already climbing the rope without knowing it. She climbed up and up and up. Up to the sky. It was getting brighter, ever so bright. She kept climbing. Up, up, up.
“Oh Popper, you worried us sick,” her mother whined. Her real mother. The one that was human.
“Why do you have to do stupid things?” her old friends were pouting.
No one seemed to change. No one seemed startled that Popper was old. She felt her skin, tight. She felt her face, smooth. She felt her clothes, small. Popper was Popper, age nine again. Had her time in the caverns been nothing? Had she not changed at all? Had everything she’d learn, everyone she loved, all just go–
Pop!