Short Story

it is life, Mama!” Mama: “Oh—so now its life. Money is life. Once upon a

General Patrick finally took notice of the trident on the uniforms of all of the men sitting at the table, not to mention the tape on the uniforms that read ‘US Navy’. “How the hell….” General Patrick said out loud.

She surveyed her kingdom. A kingdom of concrete and grey, but as far as she was concerned it might as well have been made of gold. The shine of the windows towering up above were her diamonds, and the taxis driving by were her limousines. Her black raw denim jeans, fitted t-shirt, and sneakers were her ball gown and crystal shoes. She has a quality about her that anybody who crossed her path could see. Her blue eyes reflect the silver city and her smile could make you feel warm on even the coldest of New York winter mornings.

Kassidy parked her car in a spot not too far away and backed in, hoping it would be easy to get out of when it was time to leave. Just in case she had to make a quick exit. While she and Caleb had stated they’d be friends, she was still a little hesitant whether or not being friends would work out for them. Too much history.

Ryder stared up at the Snowbelle gym, his heart racing in his chest. Liepard gave off a growl as she looked up at her, a smirk of determination on her face. Emma stood beside him as she looked up at the gym as well.

Black, all he could see, among the ever encroaching darkness of night. Numb, all he could feel as scenes of death unfolded around him. “Go through first!” He shouted to his men, as they scrambled blindly toward cover. The screams of his men mingled with the sounds of the firefight created a cacophony that seemed like it would never end. The second wave of gunfire would soon ensue, leaching the land of life in one foul swoop. Despite this, he felt calm, knowing it would all end soon, and he would finally be taken to gates of heaven and accepted into god's loving embrace. He understood that he was young, but the war had seemingly aged him decades. No one would truly understand him, and he didn’t want them to understand, for that would mean

It was 6:00 p.m. and I had been studying for a few hours to prepare for a test the next day in accounting, and it was time for a break. After walking around idly, getting a drink, and clearing my mind, I headed for the stairs. My study area was in the basement where it was private and quiet. However, my wife distracted me and I lost my balance as I turned; my foot slipped off the top step. Time felt as though it had instantly slowed, and I was airborne. Instinctively, my right arm went up to protect my head and face as I fell backward, and my other arm reached out to stop the rapid descent; but, there was nothing but air to hold.

“Why was your phone on silent, Son?” Minjae asked his son, his back pressed against the alley wall, eyeing the few people that slip into his vision before returning his attention back at his son, who was busy chewing on his bottom lip. Namjoon wasn’t shocked about the question, he honestly expected it because Namjoon could fool many people with different race, different view of life, and different status, but someone he can never trick is his own father.

Marta was ten houses away from home and the closer she got, the more she shivered, dreading that one step that will swallow her inside, pass her iron security door and inside her enclosed porch. She looked at the houses that hugged each side of the street. All of them had enclosed porches with wrought iron doors that secure their homes as well. The only difference was the color of the houses. Some were pastel pinks, buttery yellows, and mint greens. She noticed that no mattered how colorful they were, they all looked just as opaque in the dark, as the other houses that weren’t painted; those houses with grey concrete blocks and symmetrical line patterns of cement like hers.

When they entered the ballroom area, the room moved around them like clockwork. Fathers and daughters swirling in synchronization around the center that sat the little orchestra playing a haunting tune. The girl’s dresses flounced out, as their heads were thrown back, eyes closed. The guys of the pair moved to the left, narrowly avoiding some of the spinning couples to come into contact with the most stereotypical male bar room, he had ever seen. Cigar smoke layered over head as fathers and sons took generous sips of whisky and chuckled with their ironically flamboyant hand gestures. The boy seemed to shrink under the atmosphere, and felt a claustrophobic nausea as he made his way closer and closer to the bar. The man working behind it

Slade Thorley peers through the grungy window of the apartment he shares with his friends. Several beggars sit outside, looking more dejected by the minute. None of them seem to notice the scruffy blonde Missourian. “When’ll this end?” he wonders aloud, as much to himself as to the other two.

Jon moved to what had once been a gunner post when the helicopter was used for warfare. Now drones did the fighting of the new state of California, engaging in “peacekeeping” missions throughout the war torn lands of what used to be the United States. What was once a machine gun in the helicopter had been replaced by an ARC diffuser. At least they’re not sending us out there with machine guns against those fires. At least we have a chance, thought Jon. As the helicopter lumbered forward through the air, Jon trained his diffuser on the heart of the storm, and braced himself.

Doctor Ruslana waited for the hand on the office clock to move. The little, black arm crept along its circuit in painful, agonizing slowness. The work day would never end. Her appointment with Detective Thibault was in five minutes, followed by four other sessions back to back after his. If she gave each client her undivided and Empathic attentions, it would be entirely too many emotions to process; her already overtaxed Enhancement would surely suffer. Marta understood this, but it couldn’t be helped, not if she wished to take Wednesday and Thursday off in addition to her normally scheduled days off on Friday, Saturday and Sunday. It was critically necessary for Marta to have five days without distraction and without the pressures of

The electricity that crackled in the onyx sky was an aura full of ancient and regal blood; a storm brewing with every passing word shared between two opposing souls.

The empty void of nonexistence was full of nothing, home to nobody, and as interesting as nowhere. Currently, however, these were all things of the past in this timeless place, as two old men that now inhabited it were currently bickering; as old men tend to do. One was a man of science whom sat on top of a large machine, covered in exposed wires and flashing lights, that was about the size of a tool shed. The other, a bizarre man to say the least, stood down below at a table that was an organized mess of old tomes, scrolls, and many exotic items used for arcane creations. They went about their odd business with disdain for one another, ever so often pausing to continue their pointless argument. As the bearded man down at the old table