Forward: In the year 2099 the world has gone to total shit. The divide between rich and poor is so great that multi-billionaire families can literally buy their own armies but the poor can barely pay their rent. Technology has progressed to a point that even near-fatal injuries can be healed completely, but such resources are strictly regulated by a tyrannic...
It seems that most of my stories tend to follow convention with a slow beginning, a logical progression and, hopefully, a happy ending, if you'll excuse the pun. As something of a reward for my readers' usual patience - or my lack thereof - I will abandon that approach and start, wham bam, in the middle of this one right now... ***** Once Anastasia's leota...
I find that lately I've become something of a masochist. Not the crazy cut myself on the wrists just for the love of pain kind of masochist, but there was something. About a year ago my mom decided to move us to California. After living in Seattle for my entire life the idea of moving to anywhere in a hot semi-arid state sounded like hell. I liked the rain...
WARNING: This story is an act of fiction that contains graphic sexual descriptions and language. If you are a minor (under 21) or if you are offended by this kind of material then you should stop reading now. Any resemblance between this story and a real event is coincidental. The participants are imaginary; their actions have no negative consequences other...
Vonda wiped the sweat from her brow with her moisture collector. It had been ten minutes and the triple suns of Calibrax had worked her into a dripping heat. It didn't help that at this time of day, in this particular phase of its 209-year cycle, there was no shade as the suns completely surrounded her from all sides. At best, at "night" (for lack of a bette...
Another one dead, and papers had given the murderer a name, but no one was using it yet. The police still called him "The Whitechapel killer," and the people on the streets called him just "the killer." Nothing more was needed. Almost everyone found time on their walking commute that morning (some leaving home to get to morning shifts, some going back home...
"I can't believe I let you talk me into this." Eileen was starting to sweat seriously now. It had been chilly in New York, even colder on the plane. Her little white ribbed turtleneck had been just right. But now, in the middle of the Arizona desert, she was dying. "I thought it was your idea," Tom countered. Actually, it had been the two of them. They had...
Smokey Saga #67: "How To Greet An Unwelcome Visitor" ***** "How-To" #5 here, another fourteen Sagas later, once more starring the Burtons, wife and husband Sandra and Lou. These two—well, Sandy, at least—have appeared in four previous Sagas, all of which have different storylines, and none of which are sequential. Lou was unable to be in one of them, but h...
The memory of cold clamped Jack's neck like a vise. Even sitting in the booth, the humid smoke of the tavern swirling about him, it clutched him. In his hand, he held a more welcome cold, but the comfort of the bottle was denied him. He was too far from home for any more than pretense at drink. The beer was stage dressing, a way to fit in with the crowd as...
2062, the Warwickshire town of Atherstone. Tamsin Beech and the others ducked back under the cover of the old Aldi supermarket as two sleek Sukhoi Su-57 jets roared overhead, staying in tight formation as they banked off to the south. "Shit," Leonid Denisovich cursed, "Volk's sending in his jets to make sure they got us all." The vast mushroom cloud boilin...