Rated PG. May provoke disturbing thoughts.
He is the reason clowns so often seem
sinister, the reason mannequins and dolls
can be so unsettling, the reason a child’s
tricycle
sitting unattended in a front yard can be an image
suffused with dread. If he goes on
this way, who knows what other objects
will attain an aura of menace?
Rated PG. Contains some profanity. Paradigms may shift without warning.
“Go to hell, idiot,” I said, using an astringent tongue he’d understand. “I am but a monumental slab of granite, and you, mortality, are like one of the droppings of a fairly large corpulent deity–an ephemeral honor I would rather pass me by.”
“And yet, you speak to me, mountain,” said the mote of humanity. “Why is that?”
I considered that for a moment. The creature had a point.
“I don’t know,” I replied honestly.
Genres: Apocalyptic
Rated G. It’s apocalyptic fantasy — for kids!
When the floods came, all us kids climbed into bed and pulled the covers up over our heads while our parents rushed about trying to do something to stop it. As the water level rose we could feel the beds lift off the floor, floating through our houses, bumping down our hallways and out our front doors.
We sat up in bed waved to one another as our beds merged onto the canal that now flowed between our houses. We shrieked and giggled as our beds spun and bumped along with the swirling water. Waves lapped at our boxsprings, but our covers were still warm and dry.
“Piece of crap!” The boy kicked the toy soldier hard and it flew across the room.
“Ow,” said Troy, as he warily checked himself for damage, “what was that for?”
The campaign had begun well. The Alarians swept south into goblin territory, and Alarian rifles quickly overmatched goblin bows and crossbows.
In just a few weeks of fighting, the goblin population was halved. The goblin chieftains realized that they were doomed without help and did the only thing they could.
They asked their god, Twenty Claw, for help.
Rated R. Contains graphic violence and disturbing images.
“Piper,” I screamed, fumbling in my purse. Too late. He brought his pipe to his lips and blew a note that almost made my eyeglasses shatter. Over at the sandbox, Nathan rose to his feet. He started moving towards the man. All the children did.
Brodie approached the line of scrimmage and both sides of the field erupted. The red-robed fans in the visitor’s stands surged like a crimson wave, swaying in unison as they began the Rite of Interception. They stamped their feet against the aluminum bleachers, chanting as they drew gleaming blades across the bellies of countless doomed rattlesnakes. Their blood spilled, the snakes were then hurled onto the field. The rain of reptiles sounded like bacon burning in a skillet as the animals protested their own sacrifice.
Drawn by the sound of the propellers, the lunchtime crowd looked to the sky. An airship passed over the skyscrapers, plumes of black, virus-laden smoke spewing behind it. Traffic below stopped. People paused on the sidewalks and watched the cloud sink slowly towards them.
I saw nothing when I looked through the eyepiece Franz handed me and told him so.
“Of course not,” said Franz. “Right now, the time sight is set to look into the future. From this point in time, the future doesn’t exist yet, not in any meaningful way, so it can’t be seen.”
The fact is, almost any new knife can cut through an aluminum can and then slice a tomato with equal ease. Don’t believe me, buy a new cheap knife and try it yourself. The pitch man hacks through a tree branch. He cuts a radiator hose. And this ho-hum humbug works. If he hammered a nail with his shoe people would buy nine pair, as long as they came with a free shoehorn and an extra pair of laces.