From "Versistasis" by Jason Jowett

About a reflection over an ex-boyfriend, from the heroin on her honeymoon...


“This condensed vibration, shaped like a demonic incursion over the tribulation of marriage, was Natasha’s pride and joy to overcome. She thought of him; she thought of the love of him when she glimpsed something; it had reminded her of Damien, somehow, something of hers that he had treasured. Shortly before uniting with her husband, this which would bind all of their victories, she thought gracefully for him. Then that thing she had recognised, the thing the Party would recognise too, they would take. They would take it from the physical realm and place it elsewhere by the inter-dimensional crossroads, also like a thing on the table. This loss in time-space would come to be noticed eventually, and that knowledge then led the Party to the route that was forbidden, where they would blockade the way that was leading to Great Suffering”

From "Wizard of Time" by Sue Owen

Next up was one of the two biggest tournaments of the day. Jousting was to be held at the end of the day and next up was the sword tournament. There was a hush across the entire crowd as the competitors walked onto the field. There were about 40 in all again in all manner of dress. Towards one end, Josh saw what appeared to be a youngish man with a round bowler-type hat on his head. The reason he caught Josh’s eye was because he was dressed in the plaid tunic and short breaches with boots that Meri had on when he last saw her.

Suddenly his jaw dropped. He nudged Digger but saw he had the same expression on his face, looking at the lad. They both realized at the same time that young boy, in the sword tournament, was their very, own Meri.

From "The Ninth District" by Douglas Dorow

FBI Special Agent Jack Miller is pulled into a high-profile case to mentor a new agent and finds himself in a clash with the toughest opponent of his career...

“Freeze it!” Staring out from the television was the face of a bank robber, a killer, in a mock salute. “What the hell? Is that who I think it is? Rewind it and play it again.”

“Jack, I’ve watched this ten times and there’s nothing there, nothing but that salute.”

“Rewind it. I want to see it again.” Jack pointed at the flat screen television on the wall and worked his thumb up and down against the imaginary remote in his hand. “Come on, let’s go, Junior. I want to see it again.”

 “It’s Ross.”

Jack glanced back at Ross and then stared at the screen, waiting for him to play it again. “Listen. The SAC asked me to help you. I’m here to help. Let’s watch it again.”

From "Stormy Defense" by Stella Eromonsere-Ajanaku

‘You’re extremely rude and annoying. Shoving and pushing on a cluttered train is unacceptable. You owe me an apology.’ When she had pushed him, he’d also changed position, so they now had their shoulders side by side.

   ‘If you wanted to travel in style, this was a wrong choice, man in jeans!’ she parried. Another round of good natured mirth broke out in the train.

   ‘That’s one lady with some spunk,’ cheered one seated commuter. ‘She’ll give any man a run for his good money.’ Derek was usually good natured, with a sense of humour, but this glamorously dressed, cheeky woman was rubbing him the wrong way.

   And he didn’t fancy being made a laughing stock on London’s choked, public transport. ‘Why are you so saucy?’ he queried sarcastically, unable to shake off the irritation she’d caused him. Before he could get an answer, the train door opened and she stepped onto the platform. She looked back at him, winked and swanked off in her black, stiletto high heels. Her flirty body language generated a rousing applause from the usually bored, fellow rail users and a fiery scowl from Derek.

   Derek was miffed.

   The joke was definitely on him.

From "The Road Trip Dialogues" by Jass Richards

Rev and Dylan reconnect twenty years after teachers' college...

“What are you doing here?” she said next. Okay, that sounded wrong, she thought, fully aware of her arrested social development, but not really giving a damn.

She took in the well-worn jeans, the lime green t-shirt, and the second-hand suit coat he managed to make so very his own. Still loose and lean. The pink rat’s tail was gone though.

“I thought you were teaching up in, what was it—Nelson?”

“Yeah…”

“You were all excited about it. Small community, informal school. I was a bit surprised, actually.

Thought you’d go for the action of some inner city school.”

“Yeah, well, that must’ve been Monday.”

She waited.

“Tuesday I joined a bunch of drunken Indians,” he smiled cheerfully, the Irish lilt still in his voice, “and we formed a band.”

She broke into a grin. Typical Dylan, really.

“What’d you call yourselves?”

“A Bunch of Drunken Indians.”

She burst out laughing.

“I didn’t know you played an instrument,” she said in the ensuing silence.

He hesitated. She waited again, sure it would be good.

“Tambourine.”

From "Ghost Child Alana" a story within "Tips for Tailoring Spacetime Fabric" by Roger Bourke White Jr.

Humans have found many places on Earth that they can live and thrive.
The west desert of Utah is not one of them.

For thousands of years the sun has arched over that land of flat muddy soil, too alkaline for grass or cow, man, or horse.

But the west desert of Utah is between two places where humans thrive nicely: St. Joseph, Missouri, and Sacramento, California. So when the Pony Express businessmen of 1859 wanted the fastest route across the Untamed West, they chose to lay their route over that otherwise worthless chunk of land.

The Pony Express lasted only eighteen months … replaced by the telegraph. And the land was once more completely barren of humans for nearly a hundred years.

But memorials to the Pony Express were built along its route to keep people busy during the Great Depression, and a dirt road was built to connect the abandoned way stations so tourists could come see.

A few do … and this is the story of two of them.

From "What Lies Within" by Noah Murphy

Two private detectives, are trying to track a suspect behind a theft...

Orlando Dorado lived down a seemingly deserted, tall but narrow hallway. The hallway was lit dimly by flickering lights. The paint was peeling and covered with neon graffiti. The humming of machines echoed down the narrow space; smothering all other noises.

“We are going to get attacked and you are going to die,” Mordridakon said.

“Come on,” Conklin said, “this isn’t Tower Killers 4.”

They walked to the end of the hallway. Orlando’s door hung lazily open. The apartment interior was trashed.

“Orlando’s corpse has been eviscerated and will be revealed to us once we open the door all the way. You’ll be killed if you walk inside the apartment, where the killer is waiting for us.”

“I’ve solved thousands of homicides in my career and none have ever gone like that. You’ve watched too many movies.”

“I’ll wait outside just to be sure.”

“You’re acting crazy.”

“I am crazy. I have the certificate to prove it.”

Conklin grumbled, now understanding why Alfonso often had trouble with him. “Alright, wait here.”

Mordridakon leaned against a wall as Conklin walked inside.

A few seconds later, Conklin screamed as a sword pierced his stomach, lingering for a moment before cutting him in half.