Shiver My Timbers

CHAPTER FOUR As Dark As His Tar Black Soul The strange beach was stifled as if the ghosts of notorious pirates, maybe even Blackbeard himself had come back to silence the coastline. My imagination was chuck full of childhood tales—I could picture infamous pirates wielding silver cutlass swords and gallant king’s men battling at sea, but the sand was deserted and even the wind now held its breath. “Bro, we’ve fallen down the rabbit hole or something. I know were not in Pixie Dust anymore . . .

CHAPTER FOUR As Dark As His Tar Black Soul The strange beach was stifled as if the ghosts of notorious pirates maybe even Blackbeard himself had come back to silence the coastline. My imagination was chuck full of childhood tales—I could picture infamous pirates wielding silver cutlass swords and gallant king’s men battling at sea, but the sand was deserted and even the wind now held its breath. “Bro, we’ve fallen down the rabbit hole or something. I know were not in Pixie Dust anymore . . . but

enough. Just know, this is a story of liberation, of freedom, with a price of course – but what has not a price that is valued? Since, my reader, as much as you’d like to deny it, we are all the same: In the face of death, empathy is a liability, as is weakness. And that is presicisly how I like my sacrifices. Weak, and empathetic. Quite insipidly, my story begins at my house. The three story monolith that was Blackwood

silent and so deserted that even the wind held its breath. Where the heck are we, Wonderland? I thought as panic wrapped its icy figures around my throat. Relax. Just breathe. In and out it’s easy, I told myself listening to the soothing sound of lapping waves gently caressing the cream-colored sand. I repeated it like a mantra twice, and had almost mastered my jumpy nerves when I spied something bobbing on the purple swells. “Bro, were not alone.” Mason pointed to something across the lilac waves—the

She felt the intensity and dominance he had over her, which sent shivers down her spine and tremored all over her muscles, she couldn’t handle the pressure … “I never called him! Tituba, Tituba…” Abigail exclaimed placing the blame on the black slave. Hale enthused with the new information, asked “How did she call him

Patience is what it took to end his reign. I always sleep on the same sticky and hot leather recliner at my grandparents. It is a reasonable place to sleep but a horrible place to wake up, so it does not seduce me to stay when the 4:30 A.M. alarm sounds. The aroma of steaming coffee fills the house as “the guys,” as my grandma calls us, file out of their rooms. We all ready ourselves for the morning's hunt by making sandwiches, eliminating scent by showering

They both worked in momentary silence as the creature translated and she combined the ingredients and readied them for the addition of the final element needed to complete the spell. When she glanced back up it was to see the demon looking at her expectantly before announcing it'd completed the task she'd requested. Dahlia only nodded and picked up the book, scribbling in the translations as it provided them. She'd have preferred the spell in its original language, as she couldn't help feeling like

already is it?” It did not matter anyways. These are the consequences when you are a survivalist like me. Hunters don’t appreciate the land like I do. I have encountered too many hunters in my twenty four years out here, I better stay out this time. “What is on the to do list today?” I wondered as I reached over to my tiny tan, stained line paper. Get water Change pine needles Gather wood Love life Ever since Elizabeth had her heart attack in ‘90, that’s all she asked me to do: love life. We use to walk

He arrived three years ago, bitter and angry. He was 11, six years my minor, and in those awful "tween" stages, as Pearl called it. He had a shock of brown hair, a sharp contrast to our dyed neon hair, and he refused to dye his to match. He had stormy green eyes and a sharp tongue that got him into more trouble than it was worth. He insisted on being called Rhys, though the Doctor told us his name was Shard. He was a mostly good kid, although he harbored an unnatural hatred towards the Doctor.

Within the shadows of War many individuals can testify the cause and effects of those actions. With that intent, Hiroshima by John Hersey was in its origin a report published in New York, in 1946, shortly after the massacre of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The author, who had worked as a war correspondent during the war for Time magazine, composed a story that is not only a classic in the genre of investigative journalism, but also constitutes an inescapable testimony to any reflection in the field of