Short Story Chapter 1

With a half unconscious turn and not without a slight shame he scurried under the couch, where, in spite of the fact that his back was a little cramped and he could no longer lift up his head, he felt very comfortable and was sorry only that his body was too wide to fit completely under it” (Part II Paragraph 5)

Securing his palms to the edges of two uneven holds about a foot off the ground, he strained up and back, shifting more and more weight onto his outstretched legs, lifting higher, to the highest position his grip would allow, the pain smoldering in his back, until his left palm slipped off the wall and he fell, catching himself with a backwards slide of his right foot, able somehow to support him now.

It had all been a dream, that conversation Percival had with a little girl. He’d had the same dream every night for six months, ever since he and Gwaine found out that finally, after three years of waiting, they would be fathers. Percival had pictured his little girl so clearly in his mind every night – her voice, her comforting weight in his arms, the scent of her shampoo (strawberry). But there was every chance that the dream was about to become a nightmare.

An hour or so later, Ralph opened his eyes. His head felt as if it had

His knee dropped right on top of the broken glass, cutting deep into it, and when his knee hit the hard tiled floor, a bone tore through, busting his skin open. Blood gushed out and a loud bellowing howl followed.

“ Mya watch out!” Mya tripped over a rock and tumbled down the hill that the forest sat on top of. She ended up on her back staring up at at the sky. Farren carefully jogged down the hill. “Are you okay?” she asked. Mya looks up at her.

Hinton, an amiable tobacco planter in Virginia, inspected the mill infrequently and trusted him to make an honest trade. There was no way to forecast when loggers would arrive, depending on the weather and the wind and water currents so Matthew remained available year-round. He was tall, burley with bushy, red hair, and freckles that almost connected into a solidly tan face. People never forgot him because his freckles were such an assortment of colors, red, brown, tan, beige, pink, auburn, rust, black, and orange. He entertained visitors with stories of animals and men fighting themselves and each other along with spine-tingling stories about ghosts and Indians that intimidated the settlers. If they were true, it did not matter.

Landers was not so lucky. He pitched sideways onto a neighboring table, upsetting it. Money and cards flying off it danced a midair jig as he crashed to the floor on his back. He lay there in a groaning heap with eyelids fluttering and blood seeping under his head until his eyes rolled back and he gasped and fell into silence.

Cleo stood for a moment staring at the spot where Penelope had lain only hours earlier, a tears of remorse and relief slipped down her cheeks. From behind, she heard an awkward, announcing cough. Wiping her cheeks quickly, she spun around. One of the carpenters was standing by the stairs, his hand wrapped tightly around a rag “I hope everything is in order? I know the painters guessed

They made it to a corner of the room, the student looked down and saw a jar on the floor. The others began helping the old woman to the floor. “Hold up!” the student yelled, but it was too late. The woman’s weight took over and pulled everyone with her, making a loud resounding flopped to the floor.

“Hey,” he said, ”what are you-” Edward heard a dull thud and was knocked backward. The last things he could remember were feeling a sharp, stinging pain in the front of his skull and slowly losing consciousness.

His eyes rage with a furry she's never seen before. 'And what about you kitten? I can't save you this time. There's nothing-' his voice breaks on a sob. Nothing could have prepared him for this. She was supposed to come home safe and sound. They were supposed to laugh over the time travel thing. And then he would have finally kissed her. But now they were here. In a terrible reality of him holding her while the light slowly fades from her eyes, and goes

As she hit the mirror a splatter of blood emerged from her hand and landed on the fragments of mirror. The grip on her neck loosened, the lights came on, and Timmy awoke by gasping for air.

He dragged his sorry wyvern ass up to front of the cave—ti was a pocket of mountain he’d carved out over a decade ago, once he got close to the end of his days. At least he’d made it to his tomb before he lost his mind entirely, which meant Rosalyn was safe from his wyvern’s savage need to take her by force, seal her with his dragonfire, and then rape her until he impregnated her with his child. A shudder ran through him with that horrifying thought. He’d flown away from the keep as fast as he could, then he’d thrown up the protection runes around his tomb that would forever lock his beast inside. His wyvern, with its beastly mindlessness, would be trapped, unable to open the magic cage he’d summoned.

All around them men shouted with glee or frustration, depending who they’d been backing to win the race. Yiannis had been shocked to see how many had turned out to watch. When Fungy had roused him from his bed, where he’d been putting the finishing touches on one of the sketches he’d made the other day, he’d been curious.