Travel light, but take everything with you. That motto had served Herschel well all these years and he wasn't about to abandon it now.

He stepped over the fresh corpse. Putting down the gun, its barrel still hot and smoking, he went into the bathroom for his toothbrush, grabbed the bills from his roommate's rapidly cooling hands, and walked out the door.

Giving in wasn't an option, but there was little else she could do.

"Ok, ok," she told the young galant with the sharp blade, "take whatever you want. Just don't hurt me."

The rascal had a look in his eye so sharp it could cut glass. "What I want, my lady," he said, drawing the space out between words to give them import, "is you."

The young woman's eyes widened, her ruby lips opened, but words failed her.

Reaching down, he made himself ready for his reward; then laid his hands upon-

her chastity belt.

Freed of the constraints of...

The dangers of air surfing had yet to be explored. Jenna had never been shy when it came to taking risks, yet now she found herself in the embarrassing position, almost literally, of talking out her ass.

"Can you help me down, please?"

"What happened to 'I'll be a living legend?'" quipped her boyfriend, Bob. "I mean, I've got to say I'm enjoying the view."

Dangling, upside down, as the tide came in, did little to improve Jenna's temper. "Just pull me down; will you?"

"Just as soon as I finish filming. My followers on YouTube are gonna LOVE this!"...

Whoever said a picture was worth a thousand words had never met Frank.

The man had never met a camera he didn't like, a paintbrush he couldn't weild with the skill of an accomplished demolition man. He didn't just fail to capture his subjects, he mutilated them, butchered their faces on canvas or in gelatin print to the point that the destruction itself was an art form.

Shadows cast a sinister light on the angelic face of his little girl. Brush strokes created abhorrent textures in the golden halo of his wife's hair.

Artists were said to put themselves into...

The desert rose would always grow.

It knew nothing of circumstances beyond its control. Nothing of bodies drying in the sun, baked by heat on the hot sand. All that mattered was the sun and the wind and just enough moisture to survive.

The girl turned, picked the pink blossom, and tucked it into the soldier's kaki colored uniform. The color clashed happily with the washed out surroundings, almost as much as the smile with which he repaid her small kindness.

The power of flight could be transferred.

When Marisa first discovered this, she was thrilled. As far as she knew, other 'birds' could only fly themselves, the envy of other humans. Being part of the elite wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Envy was a problem. Bitterness led to hate led to violence.

Her mother had told her to hide her abilities, that others would fear and resent her. But this new ability changed everything; didn't it? Instead of hating her, she could grant that power to others. What wouldn't those stranded on the land give to be...

All Sam had wanted was a ride.

He's grown up in the Mid West, eaten his breakfast from cereal cartons plastered with the faces of lost children, so he knew the dangers. Still, it was raining. The weather was crap, and out of the falling rain the white ambulance had come like an angel of mercy. It's flashing lights were off; only the fog lights cut through the gloom, shining on him like a halo.

"Want a ride?" called the driver over the water's roar.

Indeed, he did. His goal, simply to get from point A to B in relative...

The hero wheeled himself up the burning ramp with his strong, metallic arms, handled the squealing babe with remarkable tenderness, and put the small bundle in his lap before wheeling himself back through the rapidly collapsing corridor. The villain had hoped to dash the President's resolve with the death of her first born, but he hadn't counted on the 'Challenged Challenger' appearing to save the day.

His goal hadn't been so lofty. He'd only come to get his parking pass renewed, but stayed to save a life.

All in a day's work for the city's noblest hero.

At least the cold would keep the goods from spoiling.

That was Fred's first thought as he lugged the heavy packages from the back of truck, balancing them awkwardly as he struggled through snow. Luckily, the hospital was only a couple blocks away. Delivering the cargo on time without any fluids leaking or parts spoiling shouldn't be a problem. The last thing a transplant patient needs is complications.

Thank goodness for the cold.

Just one more step.

That's all it would take to step into eternity. Not even that. If the day had been wet instead of dry, his resolve would not be needed. He could fool himself into thinking he was just standing on the precipice, looking at the horizon, without a thought of anything but the space around him... His loose fitting slippers would slip on the mossy rock and responsibility would no longer be an issue.

Saint Peter would ask, "Did you mean to take your life that day?" and Henry would answer, "No, I just wanted a view."

Of...