Tacos.
I woke from a delicious dream of seasoned meats and melted cheese. Hazily, I grappled for my phone and tried to focus my still-bleary eyes. Of course I was dreaming of tacos. It’s Taco Tuesday.
Or it should be Taco Tuesday, but for me there would be no carnitas wrapped in soft,
It isn’t positively raining, but there is a mist in the air that seeps through one’s clothes. A young boy stands beneath a lamppost, staring across the cobbled street. One trouser knee is patched, and the other needs patching. He shrugs his shoulders and buries his cold hands deeper into his pockets.
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Saturday night in the World Capital Hospital’s Emergency Department is often full of surprises. Maybe the biggest came when Earth’s President, Derek Percy, was wheeled in strapped to a gurney after trying to claw his own face off. As the chief resident of the Emergency Department, it fell to me to investigate.
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Manitoba, November 1955
The class goes silent. Just one word out of place, but that’s all it takes. She looks round to see they’ve all noticed. Of course they have. And most importantly, Johnson has. I don’t call him our teacher, because he doesn’t teach us anything apart from who we aren’t, and
My fingers hover over the ivory keys, and I smell smoke. I don’t have to strike a note to hear a sound. But it’s not a clear, crisp middle C ringing in my ears—it’s screaming.
The memories flooding my mind haunt me more than any discordant melody ever could.
Herman McMillan was the best detective in the history of crime, and I was the only one who knew it.
There was that time he found a murderer hiding in the air vents of a drugstore after using his dachshund to follow the scent of the cheeseburger left in the victim’s apartment. Another time McMillan returned
Jon ducked into Mrs. Winslow’s English class just before the bell. The red paint had been scrubbed from the door, leaving behind just a few stubborn smudges. Jon willed himself not to look, but he couldn’t avoid a glance or two. It wasn’t every day that a guy committed the perfect crime.
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It was not the way that Geoffrey Owen Davies had envisioned his retirement working out. He had made it to the finish line in the Department of Construction with his home paid for, a lifelong income from his superannuation, and some untraceable accounts in the Caymans. His wife had left some years ago
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“I’m afraid your understanding of the situation’s more muddled than a mojito, darling.” Nash Welter stretched an arm across his desk and flicked his lighter, touching flame to the tip of the dame’s trembling cigarette. “I’m only a hitman.”
The darling in question narrowed her eyes and inhaled deeply, staining the white paper
A musket ball whizzed past Lizzie Ozark’s ear and smacked the skull of a neighboring soldier. Warm blood splattered her cheek. She chanced a look and stifled a cry.
Through the haze a hundred yards away, gray uniforms shifted, progressed, and reformed ranks. Injured comrades groaned around her feet.
Her regiment’s tattered Union
I have the best job in the world. I’m a game warden on Africa’s magnificent Serengeti. This wilderness grabs you by the heart and enchants you forever with its shrouded mystique and vast majesty.
My project is big game preservation—in particular, black rhino and African buffalo which share the same range.
Melinda curled up on the couch, reading Little Women for the sixth November in a row. She’d received an abridged version for her seventh birthday and identified with Amy March because Amy was the only character who wasn’t yet a teenager. And maybe Melinda, like Amy, was a little bit spoiled.
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