Submitted by Chris Castle on Tue, 01/24/2012 - 15:31
Jack Trump awoke from the nightmare drenched in sweat. It was a familiar part of his life now. The memories of the trenches would seem like reality up until the point where his own body would be cut down by a swathe of bullets and he would launch, bolt upright, in his bed. His shaking hands would run over his skin and find sweat instead of blood. It would not yet be dawn but he would rise, wash and dress himself, the nightmare still lodged, like small shards of glass, inside his every movement. Even as he walked into the London streets a scream or a cry for help would invade his ears, as clear and as real as the hawkers selling their papers on the side streets and the cobbles.
Submitted by Chris Castle on Tue, 01/17/2012 - 14:09
Matt Devon logged on to his site as he ordered his coffee. The waitress glanced back at him after he ordered but hadn’t come back, for which he was grateful for. It wasn’t so bad now and he hoped by the end of the year no-one would recognise him at all.
Submitted by Chris Castle on Sat, 11/05/2011 - 00:10
I think I’ve loved Susanna from the first time we slept together. I don’t mean like that, not sex, but the hours when I awoke and saw her next to me, her eyes closed but racing under the lids. I have always found it hard to sleep and for the first time in my life, I had something, someone, to reassure me, calm me and lull me back into sleeping through until dawn. For all that came after, I know that I did love her and she loved me, more than many; more than most, I think. We knew what it meant to love.
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Submitted by Chris Castle on Mon, 09/05/2011 - 17:07
Pete raised himself up and looked over to Mr. Cedric. The man looked like Pete himself had looked so many times before, with his master’s body for support; slumped, lifeless. His face was too pale, the red trickle at the corner of his mouth too bright. The lips no longer moved, no longer gave Pete a voice. The teeth looked like dead soldiers, stacked up like sandbags.
Submitted by Dean Thiele on Sun, 08/07/2011 - 11:26
Submitted by Anna L Stephens on Mon, 06/27/2011 - 14:49
When I met her on the planet’s surface, Mex Christophe was everything I’d expected. Born into the false 1.3 Earth-standard G of the space station orbiting Helical-9, she was short and muscular, like all those born to the scientists seeded this far out into space. She was seventeen standard years old, had graduated from H-9 Home's medical facility as a precision Med-Tech and taken her first junior position with a recon-team.
Submitted by Jason Kurt Easter on Fri, 06/17/2011 - 08:56
“This is it. It has to be.” said the outlander. His mouth was dry. The air was fresh, rain had not fallen for months and the wind whistled. There were no footprints or tracks at the base of the stairs except for his own; evidence suggesting he was in the wrong place.
Submitted by Dominic Kennedy on Thu, 05/12/2011 - 19:31
Phil sat anxiously in the study room, waiting for the others. First he drummed his fingers, and then he tapped his nose. All he needed was a yo-yo and he would have been complete. Finally, he heard a noise in the corridor and then the quick snap of the door handle. He turned round and saw Steve bundle in, followed by Jim and Graham. He stood up, feeling oddly formal, and the others nodded to him. It was time to begin.
Submitted by Dominic Kennedy on Mon, 05/09/2011 - 12:00
In the waning hours of an uneventful day, Mr. Henderson, a black-haired, scruffy individual, was being pursued by a ghostly figure that lingered at the edge of his vision.
Submitted by Dominic Kennedy on Thu, 05/05/2011 - 09:40
The alpha wolf lifted its head to the full autumn moon and let out a long sorrowful howl. It was answered in turn by the other members of the pack as they converged on the alpha's position, ready to chase the unwanted visitor from their hunting grounds.
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