They were listening. Ears pressed against the glass, as if it were opaque, like the doors they used to listen through when Kat and Patrick used to fight.
There was nobody in the room behind the window, just the green house and the plants which grew too slowly to notice, but somehow enough to garner praise once they had become large and showy. Lillian seemed to be listening with concentration and Indy, he couldn't help but feel like he had missed the point.
"What is it we're listening for, again?"
"Shh."
"But I'm-"
"Shh. I said shh. You're listening them...
He stood outside the castle, looking in. That little fence was all that separated him from the world of imagination. For the castle was filled with magic, with kings and queens. If only he could get inside, and experience that magic for himself.
When he got older, he'd realize that there was no such thing in the castle. The outside was a beautiful facade to entertain the children, but the inside was used as a storage room.
BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP
That's the sound of the horn that Stacey heard every night, at all hours. Seems her neighbor's boyfriend always wanted to pick her up at all hours of the night.
Now, Stacey didn't care what people did with thier time. She didn't care what her neighbor and her boyfriend did whenever they went out. She didn't even care what time they did any of this. The problem was her neighbor's boyfriend couldn't seem to lay off the horn.
Tonight, Stacey got home with an attitude. Her inbox at work never seemed to see the...
The city of Asgoth was falling out of the sky, and there was nothing that Jorund could do to stop it. Enemy dragons spat greek fire, swarming in and around its once-grand towers. Helium vestibules melted and ruptured, and the city sunk faster and faster.
They could only save themselves. Jorund struggled with the helm of the Zephyr, trying to escape Asgoth's widening shadow. He grimly looked across the atmosphere at the enemy warship. Charin was standing on the bridge, his hands full of magic and his eyes full of hate. This wasn't the Academy anymore; things were settled in...
I'm dead. Really dead. Not in the "there'll be a twist at the end and I'll be saved" kind of way. Just dead.
I'm not truly Welsh of course, being that my Great Grandfather's Mother's second husband was from Scotland. A secret shame that the Family has bourn quite well, considering. When questioned over my flame coloured Ginger hair, relatives successfully hinted at the local milk delivery representative as explanation. An obvious solution, except for the fact that her hair was clearly and obviously dyed, but there you go.
So, our family are what Cwm-yn-Canu locals would call "incomers", not...
I was nearly there. The red top of the lighthouse was within my grasp. Just a few more steps and I would be in a place my father had talked about during many a bedtime story.
Pride emanated from him as he used to whisper to me about the foreign vessels that he was witness to on the shore.
I remember shivers radiating through my skin as he once described the stolen ship that had been taken over by the French pirates. Shaving so close to the rocks had caused much of the treasure to fall overboard into the sea...
The lamp wouldn't turn on. Lucy shifted, humping herself up on the mattress to look at the actual location of the light, fingers searching to see if, perhaps, she just hadn't hit the right button. But it was still there. The cheap lamp she had bought with her sister at Target while decorating the apartment she hadn't wanted to get.
"Unf," Lucy muttered under her breath. Light bulbs. She had no clue where light bulbs were. Forcing herself up, she headed out of her room and into the bathroom, flicking on the light there. But still, there was no light....
The raven sat and contemplated the traveler beneath the moon's harsh gaze. She struggled onwards, leaning heavily on her cane, cloak pulled tight against the bitter cold. Any moment now, she would look up and see her fate sillouetted against the silvery orb.
Just then, a cloud passed between them. The sudden shadow caused her gaze to flit skyward, but all she saw were cotton clouds outlined by silver light. The harbinger of death waited for her to notice him, but once again her eyes looked earthward, focused on the path before her, now brightly illumined by the heavenly bodies....
He had crossed the crunchy yard to the Cathedral many times, and he proceeded as usual without thinking too much about the crossing. He didn't really hear the crunch of his boots on the blue metal surface. He didn't really see the wattle beginning to bloom. He didn't really smell the sweet air of spring. Bishop Smith was worried: someone was stealing the sacred host from the ciborium.
It puzzled him. Would anyone in the 21st century really steal the consecrated host for black magic? No one could possibly want the bread to satisfy hunger: the wafers were thin and...
Marilyn's breath felt thick, like syrup in her throat and coating her tongue, she'd run so far already, and she didn't care that she could barely breathe as a result of it. The alley was empty, the pavement clattering hollowly under her soft sandals, and the sweat coating her palm loosened at the string of the balloon she held until it slipped and ascended, quickly snagging against a fire escape and popping.
Marilyn laughed, stopped running and stared up at the remainings of the balloon, the silver string winking in a dart of sunlight, the torn rubber fragments dangling from...