The blue sun gave off a cold light. The snow seemed to boil under its glare while the trees darkened at their core and whitened at their tips. In the distance I saw a small stall and it gave me pause. I looked over to my partner and he looked back at me, mirroring my confusion. As we drew closer I was convinced that hunger hallucinations had taken complete control. Nothing made sense but this stall made the least sense of all.
But at the first taste of that sweet aching cold I knew that this was real. Out in...
I jumped on the bandwagon. Everyone else was going down, and I mean, I thought I knew the basis of the movement, so of course that's what matters, right? So I went downtown. There were all these people there. All this passion. But I slowly realized that I was just there because it was fun. There were a bunch of other kids, my age, maybe older, sort of just there to have a good time, to try and get a rise out of some people. Like people without clothes on, or like doing drugs in the street, really weird stuff...
They weren't Norwegian, they were Swedish. We bombed all hell out of them anyway.
That was ash, not smoke. Ash moves slower than smoke. Ash langours. Yes, that might have been soot, but it could have been bone.
In the mess at breakfast, we could heard a chirping through the settling din.
That wasn't a bird.
Hero at Midnight
No one could remember who among them gave him the name Rooster; probably someone long gone by this point. A seventy percent casualty rate will leave one gaping hole in the communal memory. Everyone could remember why: yodeling and ukelele music in the pre-dawn hours was inexcusable by any measure. It had started after the battle for Hill 487. Most of Rooster's squad had been blown into pieces too small to put back together. Hence the coping mechanism. However, after two weeks of this crap, enough was enough, and Private Morlane drew the short stick: shut him...
In 1921, he flew from the Great Rift Valley all the way back to England where he discovered that it had been a mistake, he was meant to be in France, 1945. Time travelling isn't as accurate as all that.
Perhaps he would ought to do something a bit different for a change. Go back home. See what changes have been made. Would it be recognisable?
Jack the Ripper decided to return Whitechapel. 1888. London.
My fiance loves potatoes. She loves potatoes, like, more than a friend. But only if they're in french fry form. She's actually a french fry sniper. If I order food accompanied by fries, it's a guarantee that throughout the course of our meal, she will surreptitiously steal fries one by one until my stash of salty goodness has been completely plundered.
I have no defense for her fry-stealing ways. She's an addict. There's no other way to describe it. I want to stage an intervention and have our friends and family sit her down and confront her about this. I...
She leaned over the side of the ship, hair streaming in the cold, northerly wind. They'd been at sea for six days now, with three still ahead before they made land at Isenguard.
The heist couldn't have gone more smoothly. The Jaguar Pearls were stowed safely back in her cabin, the security tapes had been wiped and Mark had obliterated every trace of their DNA from the scene.
Mark. Where was he?
She turned to lean against the rail, squinting at the recreation deck in the dazzling, tropical sunlight. He was probably up there right now, all toned and bronzed...
As he said it he turned his back to the others and crossed his arms in front of his chest. Come on! said Tim, you have to come with us or else we´ll lose the bet. Hep turned back to face his friends and took a deep breath. Ok, just this once and only for 5 minutes. The 4 boys turned to face the imposing old house that lay in front of them. Dormant for years, they had all heard the terrible rumours of what had happened there many years previously, when the Kellys had lived there. Jed went first....
Gene Answer was a cool cat. He worked at a machine shop in Las Vegas. After ten years, he was laid off. No pension, no unemployment.
He had to leave his house and move into some hot-bed hotel to save his money. After that, he started to get pissed off. Eating balogna sadwiches on white bread was not his style.
Gene went to the local 7-11 dressed up in a ski mask and demanded all of their money. The clerk asked him if he wanted change. Gene simply brought out his wallet and demanded change for a $20.
The clerk,...
It was the last day.
General Richards was tired. Very tired. He had been walking for a long time, and there was still nothing in sight. No city of glass. Not even the path of golden bricks. They were nowhere to be seen.
He sat down in the dirt, even though none of the others were sitting, even though Eliza still had the energy to dance with her nurse. Of course she had the energy; she was the one they had all been giving all their food and water to. She was only a child. She held the future in...