An ocean of color floods Damien’s eyes as he steps out of the portal. A blinding array of purple, yellow, blue, and white blooms. He frowns.
Irises? Not what he expected. But little about this search has gone according to plan.
Jerking up his binoculars, Damien surveys the land beyond the field of flowers.
Philinok knew all about inspiring fear, but feeling it was foreign. It nullified his advantage, which enraged him. Angering him further was the rain that continued to pelt his head like stones.
Use that. Channel the fear and the anger into fighting fury–if you want to survive.
What should have looked like a field had become
I sit up gasping, drenched in sweat. For the third time this week, I’ve awoken from nightmares of our city on fire. People screaming, houses exploding.
Each nightmare ends the same way–with blackened bodies staring at me from their smoldering graves.
I leave our bed to stare out the window with my oil lamp…
I’m late.
My sandals slap against the cobblestones as I hasten to my post. Scents of olives, fish, and fresh bread assault my nostrils. My stomach rumbles.
I stop at Clelia’s stand, a simple board set atop old barrels. She has the best takeaway food of anyone in the city.
Tari watched incense drift to the ceiling. After the ceremonies ended, when the artificial gravity automatically shut down, the fragrance would fill the pyramid—weaponized by the addition of a toxic compound. The haze would obscure the gold and precious jewels that glimmered from every surface, deterring any graverobbers who made it past the complex
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Peter chose a table in the back of the tavern, giving himself a wide view of the entrances. He ordered a drink and instinctively scanned the room. He noted a frail old man watching him across the way. He avoided eye contact, but the man continued to watch him. Was he being followed?
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Dear Kenny,
I know I said I wouldn’t go back, but I had to, all right? I’m alive, obviously, and I know why you told me to stay away. But I couldn’t—so let’s leave it at that and move on.
I think things were a little different for me. When we were…
I found the body at dawn.
The sailor was slumped against the wrecked stern in a bloody pulp. He clung to the humble fishing boat’s planking as the chilled waters of Lake Erie lapped the crumpled hull.
Poor soul.
Bart, my beagle, set his paws on the top rail of our small fishing vessel.
It was a balmy spring morning and Mr. Robert Washington was trundling down a dirt road in a beaten-up Ford F-Series. Around him, the corn grew tall and lush and the surrounding windbreaks teamed with life. Passerines sang, corvids squawked, crickets chirped, bees hummed, cicadas droned. And then, without warning or reason, they all
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“Perhaps the necromancer’s asleep?” asked One-Legged Val.
From a distance, the necromancer’s ship looked abandoned, dark except for the giant glowing diamond shining from the masthead like a full moon. The crew of Nevermore floated in deep water off the coast of Dogshead Isle, their lanterns doused and sails tied down, transfixed
“Welcome back to the afternoon session,” Conference Chair Toke Tuilaepa greeted, his floral print button down shirt and suit jacket straining to contain a barrel chest and broad shoulders. “The first panel after lunch is always a challenge, but Explaining the Pacific Islander Wanderlust is not one to miss.” He turned to the two
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“Remind me again why we’re not calling the police.”
“We will. I just want to confirm whatever killed Jeff isn’t also on a koala massacre.” I flicked my torch beam into a nearby eucalyptus tree. The beady-eyed silver face that peered back looked innocent enough. I kept walking.
Carol followed suit…
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