Fiction

Sir Gossabel mounted his steed, then beheld his opponent from across the field. What did Princess Gertrude see in that wretch anyway? He didn't want to think. This duel would settle the matter once and for all.

Billy Maxwell and his friend Jason loved playing together, but they especially loved playing in Billy’s Backyard. It was the perfect playground, plenty of shade, lots of room and a tree house in an old elm. The two boys spent many hours fighting Indians, slaying dragons, or planning an invasion of the enemy soldier's campsite. Empires were built and destroyed in a single afternoon, and don’t forget those shootouts with mean hombres who ride into town looking for trouble.

Genissley Jones ran full speed from the explosion at Gadhafi Duck’s Bar, ran hard until she was out of breath and sweating like a little piggy. Two miles later, she ducked into Big Buck’s Stimulant Shop and Twitterporium and then slipped unseen into Big Buck’s uni-sex toilet. She stripped off her bomber-garb, ditched her long blond wig in a trashcan, pocketed her Giorgio of the Jungle sunglasses and then urinated a seemingly never-ending stream of hot steaming pee.

Jonah sat on his porch looking out to the desert. It was beautiful, no matter what anyone else said. The way the sand burned under the sun, the blur and melt of the horizon; it was as precious to him as Julianna, the way it gave him peace most days. Somewhere close-by, he heard the deputy walking over at a pace, hell, almost running, to tell him what he already knew. He drew a long breath, smudged the cigarette out of life under his heel and waited.

After showering and getting the days grunge washed down the drain, George Brent lowered himself into the antique styled Japanese soaking tub. “House, dim the light please, and please keep the water temperature at this level.”

Astarte the Divine ruled many worlds, realms, times and planes of existence - in her empire of the multiverse. She was one of the last of her race, worshiped in their final days as gods. They had seeded many words with life, like that of the desert world where did dwell the Seer of the Empty Quarter.

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She rushed away from the pool party, chiffon bikini cover-up billowing, high-heels clicking on flag stones in flickety-clicks, her bejeweled fingers gripping the sides of her face in panic. All in attendance watched her scurry away, for she was the center of attraction and all party-goers had at least one envious eye always on her. Medea lived in a strident and dramatic state of mind and physicality so rushing off in a huff was just another one of her fantastic acting methods applied to real life.

Prunella lay disabled, in hibernation mode, within the confines of The Passing Wind's cargo hold—she was five feet seven inches of miserable and unhappy androidosity. Hers was a catatonic low voltage life, a sleeping machine existence, a deactivated android, yet with an endlessly whirring mind. Her constantly probing artificial intelligence agents were her only companions, her solace, her bios buddies and consoling spirit guides. She thought deep, 24/7, about the synthetic life and her place in it.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE:
A princess and her quest free her land from a dangerous curse and an idiotic promise. An evil warlike wizard, a peasant, a dragon and a knight.
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Once upon a time, in a constantly gray overcast, mushy, musty, mustard painted land, there lived a diminutive darkly armored knight. For years and years the land he loved had been visited by repeated invisible destructions, creating horrors that can’t be described in polite company. These invisible, indefinable ethers may have caused the defects in the reasoning abilities among the population. That was the outstanding characteristic within this plot of socially cultivated earth. To a lesser degree than most of the population, the knight too, was a bit brain addled.