Author's Note: When I first published this (I hope) slightly humorous little paper, it was just to answer some ill-informed anonymous critic, and explain to readers why I used the words I did in my stories. Little did I realise that it would raise more feedback from further afield than all of my stories put together! I've had comments from people from the U...
The name is Richard Saint-Preux. A six-foot-three, broad-shouldered and muscular, ruggedly good-looking young Black man living in the city of Boston, Massachusetts. And I am a lycanthrope. What you people call werewolves. I am a member of the Sanctus Erebus Clan. One of the largest and most numerous Clans among our kind. We're made up of families who are phi...
The name is Simon Jean-Pierre. A big and tall young Black man of Haitian descent currently living in the city of Boston, Massachusetts. I was born in Orleans, a suburb of Ottawa in the Confederation of Canada. I always wanted to live in America, ever since I visited many years ago. At the age of twenty six, I decided to take the plunge. What did I have to lo...
If you want to get out of a bad situation, the only thing to do is to just do it, regardless of consequences. That's what I told myself as I walked out of the Carleton University library, holding hands with my boyfriend Jean-Pierre Moineau in public for the first time. It was a cold, windy day in February, and Ottawa was blanketed with snow. Nevertheless, I...
"Agent Olivia, we have a mission for you." Those words changed her life. Two weeks ago, nineteen-year old Olivia was called to the headquarters to investigate a supernatural event in South Africa, where one of the agents have been missing for over a month. Apparently, there had been sightings of a monster who resembled an upright wolf...Olivia was flown ov...
She looked up at me. I glanced into her eyes for a moment, then let my gaze move down the front of her dress. It was a great angle; I could clearly see the swell of her breasts. As she looked away and bent forward to clean the polish from the floor, I let my eyes wander over the rest of her body. Not that I could see much else with her nicely rounded arse fa...
Another night, another kill. Once the moon is high up in the sky, I can shed my disguise. I don't know why but the moonlight makes it easier to shift from one form to another. I could feel the full moon coming, since several days ago. It pulled at me like a magnet pulling on metal. And I cannot resist it any more than the sun could refuse to rise. Thus, I be...
My name is Samira Klahlesh-Habari. I'm a six-foot-tall, good-looking young Black woman living in the city of Nubia. The year is 2412 A.D. of the old calendar and it's year 401 of the Nubian Calendar. I'm a citizen of the Pan-African Imperium, in what was once called the North American Division. What is the Pan-African Imperium? The greatest civilization in h...
CATU Building, Washington D.C. You have to pull some strings or something, boss. He's been held hostage for two months now," Sam implores. "I'm sorry Sam, but I am trying as hard as I can," Roger says, shaking his head in dismay. "What about the President? He's the one that has spearheaded what CATU does." "I've already asked him, but his hands are tied....
Publishers' Note: This is the translated copy of the diary of Sarie Marais, a young (24 years' old) South African and Afrikaner woman. When I met Sarie I would not have guessed that she had such a remarkable tale to tell. Her tale involves getting to know a group of people that she would never have associated with. In order to help the readers not familiar w...