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...
The hunter followed, exposing himself. Edwin noted his height and confident stride. Their battle would be violent and difficult; but only if the hunter could catch him first.
As soon as he cleared the crowd at the train station he broke into a run, dashing past street vendors and through alleyways, zig-zagging across the city in an attempt to lose his pursuer.
After ten minutes, he paused at the mouth of an alley, leaning over to catch his breath. At the other end, a car went by ... then another ... then the hunter's silhouette appeared again. Slowly and deliberately,...
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...
Outnumbered.
I thought I should've won this contest, but I clearly couldn't think of any number larger than the theoretical 1st entry of the 2nd series of busy beaver numbers.
Okay, yeah, the 2nd number, obviously, but then I would have to rigorously define it, and I don't understand the math well enough for that.
"Good game"
"You admit defeat?"
"Yes, I admit defeat. Your knowledge of large numbers and advanced mathematics is clearly superior to mine."
" . . . aaaaaaand?"
" . . . and this is a clear fact even though I've spent 7 years of university...
The pistol was cocked, ready to go. Its bags were packed, you might say. Its shoes were on, and it was at Grandma's. Its teeth were brushed, its coat on and backpack packed. With bullets.
"Reach for the sky!" Criminal Pete shouted, holding the pistol from the previous paragraph at the unsuspecting victims.
"Okay, okay," the unsuspecting victims all said in unison. They all reached for the sky at the exact same time. They were synchronized mug victims. It was a living!
"Stop that, it's creepy, like dolls or clowns," Criminal Pete said. It was a bit creepy, but less...
"Which way to Omaha?"
Paint flakes blew in the wind. It smelled like gas. Anna's hair was matted; she could feel it knot further. She had nothing; the pockets of her pants were empty except for lint and paint flakes. And one quarter.
The men here knew nothing except that a woman, however unattractive and hagard, was standing in front of them. Who cared where Omaha was, anyways?
"You want some money, sweetie?" One of them whistled. "Ain't no one givin' you money in Omaha."
She rolls her eyes and walks away. Dust settles in the space above her clavicle....
I knew it would be two foggy to see the dock from the top of Crescent Hill but Grandfather had insisted, and so we went. It took nearly an hour by carriage but we had a grand old time. Millicent Hedgegrove was with us. I knew that she had been sweet on Grandfather but never really wanted to admit it. Mother and Father took turns laughing at the antics of Celeste and I and fussing at us for being too silly.
The carriage could only take us so far and then we had to climb the half mile up...
The dog told him to kill people. It wasn't like it was the first time either. Mr. Muffins had been telling Jim to kill people since he was but a pup.
At first it was the normal crazy things. Kill the president. Kill Madonna. Kill that guy who sells ice cream cones for 2 bucks down the street.
Really. Where was a 10 year old going to get 2 bucks for ice cream? The lemonade stand only earned him seventy five cents. And a bluegreen ball of yarn from Mrs. Patacki.
He managed to ignore the dog. Puppy voices were...
She lay on the water, trying hard to keep her lungs inflated. She started to sink, keeping her nose and mouth above water. As for the rest of her, it was completely surrounded by water. her light linen dress was soaked. She kept her arms behind her, just in case she hit the bottom of the lake. as water consumed her nose and mouth, all she saw, all she thought, all she felt, was the end. She was dying anyway. Why not speed it up a bit?
I couldn't sleep with her next to me. Her body was cold, hard like marble, but also soft -- like frozen meat. That's all she was now: meat. The light was gone, and I could not sleep curled up next to my dead sister.
I needed to sleep. It would be at least another day before we made it to the border, maybe even two before we hit the safe house. Sonia would start to stink by then. And I would lose my mind if I didn't sleep.
Still, her body next to mine reminded me that it was only...