“We’re being watched. I’ll be back when its time,” the calico whispered as it passed her by. The cat darted off after something, perhaps nothing. Either way, Tokus Cassius continued to wait, thankful she wouldn’t have to walk just yet because her feet were still asleep.
Saturday, November 28, 2015
Cassie waited in the bushes, sitting with her feet folded up under her. When she felt her feet start to tingle, she carefully adjusted her position. That’s when she noticed the calico walk up the steps to the second house on the left, sit down on the porch, and stare into the dark. As the cat’s head moved towards her, light from the house across the street made its green eyes glow eerily. She shivered in the bushes. The slight movement was all that the cat needed, it walked down the steps into the street, and headed right for her.
Saturday, November 21, 2015
“Archel!” bellowed Fraunx Adonis, “Archel, where in all of Iphi are you? Get in here. Now!”
“Coming!” Archel shouted back.
Standing with hands on his hips, impatiently tapping his right toe, Adonis stood in his foyer staring at the empty space above the fireplace. The boy slid through the oak doors. “About time. I told you last week I wanted that painting in here. Why isn’t it here? I’m here. It’s not. Explain.”
Archel slapped his head, “oh, I forgot.”
Saturday, November 14, 2015
Kent Wheelock used his filthy sweat-soaked pink sleeve to wipe the streams running down his face. The futility struck him as fresh drops of sweat rolled into his almond eyes which closed against the stinging salt. Hard time in quarry country always meant death. He cursed his bad luck; if he hadn't spent the last month slowly starving he could easily have overtaken the two imbecilic guards. As it stood, he was dehydrated, emaciated, and exhausted from shoveling his own grave. He needed a break. Every so often he paused taking in deep breaths.
Saturday, November 7, 2015
Sandy blonde locks danced across the young woman's brow as she stared out at the roaring blue expanse. No clouds, just wind. She looked over the edge of the cliff at the speck 150 feet down, shuddered at the thought of missing the ledge, hugged her black leather jerkin and murmured a prayer, then stepped off. Initial descent created momentary panic: she just knew she'd miss until she just knew she wouldn't. Her breathing steadied, her fall slowed to a stop. She hovered like a swimmer floats, relaxed, not a care in the world. Tunic and cotton breeches flapped around her battered old knapsack, which was a gift from the old woman. The watery beat on the breakers picked up as the wind whipped her against the cliff. Her desire to relax quickly oscillated to the desire to land safely.