INTJ: Â She told herself all the work would be worth it, the move would be worth it, her education was worth it, but three days of non-stop unpacking had been a bit tedious even for her. At least everything was in its place now, the mess of empty boxes and packing peanuts confined to one corner of the basement apartment. The only thing left to do was investigate what that fox that crept past the door every night was doing.
INFJ:  Iâm never getting of off this boat, he told himself happily. Sure, the boat was more of a raft drifting lazily around a pond, and he wouldnât hold out for more than a few hours, but he had two sandwiches and high hopes. The water promised to deliver a perfect dosage of adventure that afternoon, with the lily pads on the far side beckoning him closer. The frogs eyed his craft with distaste, but nothing was doing to dash his hopes today.
ENTJ:  On the agenda for today: receive an award for courage shown as a representative in the local government. Was he nervous? Absolutely. He changed ties three times before settling on a necktie that heâd bought because it set off his eyes. The town was in for a surprising few years of change if heâd have his way⌠should he wear his glasses or not? A quick run-through of the pros and cons, and the glasses stayed.Â
ENFJ:  Coffee shops were her favorite spots, though she hated the taste of coffee. The smell was what did it: it was hope captured in an aroma. She needed that hope today, as she watched the trickle of people in and out of the shop. She fingered her jacketâs brooch, which was smooth and cold, and braced herself. Her boots clicked on the floor and stopped at his table. âI see you here all the time, do you mind if I know your name so I can say hi?â
INTP: Â He surveyed the forest from the top of his tower. Beaten down and made of roughly hewn brick that matched the cloudy sky, this tower was especially tall for a reason. He saw smoke in the distance, heard war drums, and grinned. There was no room for fear here, for his mind was too full of alternate strategies. Even so, the original plan was practically foolproof; they were caught in the trap, his initial deceit already proving to be a success.
INFP: Â It was nothing new, waking up to the ethereal gossamer web in the rafters above his head. What was different was the hour and the presence of the webâs tiny weaver. A dream must have woken him, or maybe a semi passing by, because the room was still lit in pale shades of purple-gray. The spider danced around and he wondered if he should put nuts in his coffee today, and then he was dreaming of delicate legs and ghostly tendrils again.
ENTP: Â She stopped sawing away at the ratty old wig for a moment to admire her work. This was about to be the best worst surprise ever. Was she a bit cocky? Perhaps. But she didnât care to think about her ego at the moment, as it was the brilliance behind her latest brainchild. She picked up the knife and resumed her work, smiling to herself as she imagined her friendsâ faces when the most horrifying clown on Earth would walk into the party that night.
ENFP: Â The morning air tasted of freedom, the fading moonâs magic being blended with the colors provided by the newly minted sun. She sat at the edge of the lighthouseâs upper balcony, watching the waves crash into the rocky shore below. The wind had already snatched one of the bright slippers from her dangling feet in an attempt to get her to play. She noticed none of this, though; her mind was lost in the possibilities just over the daybreak horizon.
ISFJ: Â Somehow her head was calm, though her heart was racing. Five rungs up the ladder and she was closer to the attic than sheâd ever been before, but further from the ground than sheâd ever cared to be. When she finally entered the quiet shelter of aged paper and dusty memories, the only thing she could focus on was the crystalline vase by the window that was whispering to her, beckoning her to come unravel its secrets.
ESFJ: Â She felt like she should be more nervous than she actually was, but she couldnât bring herself to feel anything more than a mild sort of acceptance. She checked her outfit for the next day of school one more time, knowing it was going to set the tone for her new relationship. The necklace sheâd been given on last nightâs date sparkled happily, and her reflection told her the truth: she was happy, she was confident, and she was ready to face tomorrow.
ISTJ: Â When her coworkers said she reminded them of a crow, she took it as a compliment because it meant she didnât distract from their jobs. Also she was hardcore interested in crows and death, and how crows enact justice upon the death of their family members. She was a sucker for justice as well, in case her job wasnât enough of a tip-off. She adjusted her glasses and returned her thoughts to her current task. Her coworkers were intimidated into silence.
ESTJ:  A manâs home is his castle⌠or something like that, he reminded himself as he flipped a sandwich in the frying pan. However, his castle was getting more and more cramped by the day. Or maybe it was just his growing ambitions taking up more space, reminding him that he wasnât living like a CEO because he wasnât a CEO. He dropped a slice of cheese on an uncooked slice of bread. Honesty is the best policy when dealing with yourself and your lunch.
ISFP: Â Thereâs a painting of a clock in the middle of her ceiling, a painting sheâs been working on for years. Itâs not an intimidating presence, like Big Ben, or a bland reminder, like a school clock. A lot of people would argue that itâs not even a clock, just a strange circular swirl comprised of a mix of other paintings. It didnât matter what they saw, though. To her time was a dance, a dance that she never feared.
ESFP: Â The first long, loud notes swirled through the air before the violin dipped into a leaping tune that brought everyone in the cottage to their feet. His eyes twinkled as his playing pulled his guests into a furious round of dancing, joy weaving its way through their midst. The violin kept playing as he joined in the dance, and everyone lost track of who was the guest and who was the host. It was the most fun heâd had since his last party.
ISTP: Â He had a knack for making small sounds and being where he wasnât supposed to be, and that was probably why he was stuck in a closet with only a moth for company. The gun in his hand had him nearly vibrating in anticipation of being caught. At any moment that door could open, his bravery could be for nothing, and the moth could lose its only companion. He let the moth land on the gun; it was going to need shooting skills to survive in this line of work.
ESTP: Two plates of pasta werenât going to be wasted on him, no sir. He was hyped up on carbs and ready to tackle today, thanks to that hardy breakfast, and today was turning out to be full of opportunity. Heâd just happened upon a rusty old bridge that was just asking to be scaled, skated on, and swung under. Coincidentally, he loved doing all three of those things, and he wasnât one to deny a dangerous playground one last round of play.
