Thirteen - There’s Enough Blame for Everyone

Healing a Princess : 32

(Welcome to Blaire)

Written by Tim Knight

Healing a Princess: 31

(Deals, Steals, and Warnings)

Written by Tim Knight

Healing a Princess: 29

(Trout, Ale, and Magic)

Written by Tim Knight

MY REPORT ON THE SIXTIES          by Ronnie D              Room 25

I chose to have some fun with just a bit of Mis-characterization. Now my spell check hates me.

A Summer Flight of Fancy

She cared not how I looked, if I needed to shave or not. Little did she care how long my hair was or if it was combed, nor what I wore. She drew a line at what type of shoes, hard soled or spiked were verboten, however trainers or deck shoes were ok. Dressing up was fine but jeans and shorts were more practical for our dates.

What’s that Joe?

I said they’ve spotted him.

Are you sure that’s the right person? Looks like a little kid.

Temporal Address withheld under restrictions of the temporal security code of 2025.

Daddy! There's a monster under my bed!

Twelve -- Let’s Dance 

Boy is it dark!
I sense a presence in front of me – or – my sense of smell senses the presence – and boy does it sense it – phew!

THE END: PART 1: LIBRI DOS NON RETOURNIZ:

A brief interlude with the past/present/future time[s] of VeeCee and his long-lost companion, Von RapArd, despite both having conventional backgrounds, we get a confused pictorial-oral history[awfully semi-auto-biographical] and various predictable facets of timely dysfunction.

Gamma Trials

By: Annette MacGregor

Chapter Eleven – Game Day (Amanda)

As I stood at the foot of that mountain – known as The Brocken or Brocksberg – I wondered whether I was doing the right thing. Trouble was; at that moment, right and wrong were a little blurred.

I could see the mountain soaring up before me, seemingly looking down and laughing – silently mocking me.

“It’s alright for you,” I said, even though I knew it neither heard nor cared.

The thing is; right and wrong are concepts that tend to change depending upon which side of the equation you’re on. What’s right for one needn’t be right for another and what appears to be wrong might actually be right…

Sometimes, there is neither ‘right’ nor ‘wrong’. Sometimes, it’s just what is and what isn’t.

Then of course there’s the downright weird… 

 She kicked one guard in the groin, followed by the palm of her hand to his head causing him to lose balance and fall backward. She whirled around with a chop to the neck of the second guard strong enough to produce a fracture. He also fell to the floor in extreme pain. Linda turned and ran down the hall.

A 23^rd Century Girl

in the 20^th Century

Chapter 19

“Thank you for rescuing me.”
“It was the door.”
“How’s that?”
“It’s your own personal door – it’s with you all the time now, sort of surrounds you.”
“Huh?”
“Yeah.”
“Wow!”
“Yep.”
“Thank God!  Now I’m free!”

A Waste of Good Brandy

by Joyce Melton

I got up because I want to write this down.

In which a mystery of long standing is solved, mewling writers and chirping critics battle for the last laugh, and one storyteller discovers that there are worse fates for satire and its practitioners than closing on Saturday night...

 Roamin' Holiday or 'Hare today, gone tomorrow'

I'm missing my friend Betty Sue. Oh, don't get me wrong she ain't dead or nothin'. But she did get herself into one heap o' trouble this past week. And now she's got extra chores and ain't got time to come and play with me. What kind of trouble you ask? More than you can shake a stick at!

1.

I had the car, so it must be within the last couple years, but I don't know the highway. I was a long way from anywhere, and I have a memory I think must have been a little earlier, of driving through a strange flat land with dead trees and oily puddles of lakes. But this one picks up where I'm eating dinner in a large log house with an elderly couple. I don't recognize them, I think we must have just met, and they're being very hospitable. Earlier the man was showing me something in the garage that he was proud of. A computer-controlled milling machine, maybe? Maybe it was more like a jigsaw. I think he had built it himself. He was using it to make stupid kitschy plywood cut-outs and she would douse them in acrylic latex. Such a waste. The room was decorated with the cut-outs and I had seen more in the yard.

Note: This is from my life its non-fictional auto biography, Since my real Diary from the time are actually long gone I had to piece together my memories of the events for those 2 days.