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

New Moon
 

She sat at the bar crying, she had not been there for long, I asked her … what is wrong?
She told me that tonight was her time of the moon, not to worry she would leave soon.
 

A Summer Flight of Fancy

She cared not how I dressed, how long my hair was, nor what I wore. She drew a line at heels, verboten, however trainers or deck shoes were ok. Dressing up was fine but slacks and shorts were more practical for our dates.

Two free spirits of the late 60s and early 70s. They met at
Caffe Lena in Saratoga Springs after a Three Dog night concert, and
recognized in each other the lost part of their own soul. That night they
drove out Highway 29 to Lake Desolation Road and headed uphill. On the
moonlight shore of the lake, the cooling air misting with tomorrow's fog,

What’s that Joe?

I said they’ve spotted him.

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

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

Daddy! There's a monster under my bed!

Twelve -- Let’s Dance 

　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

What happens when your day goes from normal to the pits in a short period of time?
 

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]:

 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

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!

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.

The Sleep of Reason Produces Marshmallows

Three Dream Transcripts