Gamma Trials

By: Annette MacGregor

There was an intoxicating pulse in the city tonight, it seemed to reach out and caress Salandra, begging her to succumb to it's allure.  Something about this night in Chicago reminded her of the City of Angels, whispering and beckoning to her, that it had been too long since she'd frolicked in the seedy nightlife of a big city.  The novelty of being alone and unrecognized fueled her q

1: in which VeeCee and Von RapArd get dropped by their rich benefactors.

“Ouch!  Oh…ouchity…ouch…ouch!”  Li-eira practically hopped on one foot as her body processed the painful prickling of a vine of thorns.  She had been reaching for one of the loveliest pink roses and had carelessly neglected to see the patch of briars that was protecting it.  Ugly red welts were already chasing the scratch up her arm, and the

To Gamussi Rubello[a.k.a.Old Gammy Rubb]:

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.

- The Hidden Hazard -

- Of Being A Stuntman -

-By-

PattieBFine

* Chapter Four *

-The Creation Of Annie Begins-

It's December 1985. Jack Nemo has had no sleep for several nights in a row. It has been one weird interruption after another for this elderly homeless fellow. Terribly fatigued, he boards a city bus, simply hoping to catch a few z's out of the rain. But little does he realize that this bus---and existence as he knows it---are about to take a sudden detour into a chaotic realm of unrelenting strangeness, presided over by the chthonic entity known as...

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.

 Sylvia Plath's The Outhouse In Winter.

===A POEM===
 Laika Pupkino ~~~ 2009.
 

It's not so easy to find a primitive, backward culture anymore. Satellite constellations can lay down a gigahertz on every square kilometer of the Earth's surface and where there's a signal there will be receivers. We need not even mention the orbitals. The painters may be naked - they may be using mud pigments and hair brushes. You might mistake them for a tiny group of prehistoric people somehow cut off from the march of progress for thousands of years. That would be a mistake. Machines dug this cave, the hair for the brushes was grown by bacteria in a bottle, and the design taking shape on the wall does not represent an animal to be hunted. Not exactly.

by Matthew Skala

My cat watches me from his patch of sunlight. No familiar spirit this year; just an ordinary cat, black and sleek and wise in the manner of cats. Does he feel my pain? I have heard that cats have a similar disease, a slow waning of the body's defenses. But can he comprehend my unique fear?

When I was young and immortal I feared nothing; but in eight centuries I have grown wiser. Even as I advanced my position, removing my enemies one by one, I was learning the price of such advancement. Wizards have long memories, I know this; even dead ones. I fear not death but who waits for me on the other side.

Theodore the White swung his sword mightily, cleaving the zombie in two. It disintegrated in a dry explosion of dust and bone, choking him. Another of the monsters reached for him from behind, forcing him to reverse a short way and use his elbow barbs to fend if off. He felt the spike pierce rotten flesh, and heard the sickly sound of trapped air escaping from the zombies’ gut.

[This chapter contains some violence. It's pretty heavy, but not too bad, in my opinion. If it is too much, I apologize, but I don't know the standards you're used to here.]

The Sleep of Reason Produces Marshmallows

Three Dream Transcripts

 
by Edeyn Hannah Blackeney

The greatest heroes that never were?