The fantasy was a dream. A lucid vision of twisted memories and wants. The bitter tinge of broken promises and regrets awakened me, as bead of sweat rolled across my fore head. Her spot on the bed was empty. As it had been for awhile now. A sense of nostalgia crawled over me as I feigned that the lines in the sheets looked exactly the same as the day she left. That time had overlooked them and change never took place, But I was fooling myself. Everything changes. If a century of living hadn't taught me anything. It was that; everything changes.

This is another excerpt from my story called "A Dying Man". The excerpts I post are not in order and do not follow directly after one another. They are simply short, to the point ideas that I put on paper. Enjoy, and tell me what you think.

This is an excerpt from a short story/novella I'm working on. Enjoy, and tell me what you think.

It seems that time has been at somewhat of a premium recently, and I just haven’t been able to find the time to just sit and write much. Given that, it was a pleasant distraction to be able to dash off this piece of whimsey.
In all honesty, this could have been a lot longer – yet I think that it does the job well enough; and I hope it provides a few minutes gentle distraction.
BP

Starts off with the mother Emily and father Robert fighting and yelling while there son Ronald hides under the kitchen table, the father begins to slap his wife in the face and throw her around, the son then grabs the phone and calls 911.
Ronald dials 911
Dispatcher answer what is the emergency
Ronald my mommy and daddy are fighting my dad is slapping my mommie I want him to stop
Dispatcher don't worry honey we are sending someone to make him stop
Ronald ok thank you

-Don't fall in love with death. In death there's no conscience. In death there's no love. It's better to fall in love with lettuce. When did someone create something from death. Never ...

Whispering:
-You know he preaches this every time.
-Shut up ,you'll might learn something.
-Well I don't need...

Thumps and the two whisperers hang with broken necks.

The Maus is drifting in deep space,slowly rotating. No star maps, no gyro's, no RFTH. The hull's skin is not repairing. Just a vague light that reminds me of life's faith. Pressure is slowly fading, the cold is creeping. It would be perfect if the mind would be clear with it.

Just stars and the wind they make.

In the cube battles are fought. Lives are lost. It's an ancient war replica. Replicated are the numbers of lives lost. Soldiers lose their mind. And also a lot of fun... for those with nothing to care about.
It's called The Cube because of the topology of that bit of space made the war debris form a cube.
On board of the entrance complex,in the great hall, soldiers swear the faith for which they fight. With chins up they repeat the commander's words:
...

A Reception

Professor Charles Cambria stood in the center of the room holding a glass of single malt scotch and smiling. These small receptions, always given at the end of a lecture, delighted him. He enjoyed the small talk, as well as the technical questions that some of the attendees tossed in his direction.

NOTE: Long ago, I stumbled upon a peculiarity in a junk email wherein there were nonsensical snippets typed into the body. Many were familiar, coming from well-known works of fiction, while others were pure insanity. I copy/pasted these snippets to a Word document and then set out to create a short story out of them. Everything in this story is from the emails, 150 in total, and I only corrected gross spelling errors and added grammatical flourishes for polish.

The Creator wept over His doomed creation. It was such a beautiful little mote, space and time, gravity and magnetism, energy and matter, a delicate, fractal dance of uncountable partners. At its heart, a ball of rock and metal sailing through the void, covered in a thin layer of unimaginable complexity. A very delicate layer, He had worried for it many times but had kept His distance. Those were the rules, His rules, no matter how much He resented them.

A Dash is a little activity I participate in at the Second Life website. You get a word, and you get fifteen minutes to come up with something. Here are two of my better ones.

Fire.

Tears slid down her face soaking the filthy gag. She watched as the book burned. Flames licked the edges hungrily devouring the secrets she'd spent an entire lifetime gathering. The book's destruction seared across her memories, incinerating secrets one by one. Some were darker than night. Others could bring tears of joy even to the most wretched of fools. All were being snuffed out in rapid succession. Sobs choked her, the loss too great for her to comprehend.

They stood around the bed, quiet and still. Like silent guards of honour, sending one of their own off into the next life; heaven, hell, purgatory, paradise, whatever they believed in.

She stood off on her own, watching them. She felt in the way, an intruder, a spy. She didn't belong here, she shouldn't be here, but to leave now, even to give them the privacy they deserved, would be disrespectful. Standing still, they might forget she was there, unheard, unnoticed, watching with them as Death came to visit.

A sphere. Like any other sphere. Well, let's face it, out here in space, you've got any number of spheres. Only shape that makes sense. Hard to imagine a rectangular world, or a cone - or one shaped like a Louis Quatorze chair. So anyway, it loomed ahead of us, all green and purple swirls; kind of pretty in a nothing-like-Earth sort of way and we all breathed a sigh of relief. Except for Am, who didn't breathe - at least, not in the conventional sense.

CHAPTER TEN

'Rog?' Lukas wrapped a knuckle against the door of the garage. 'Do you have a minute?

'All the time in the world, for my, not-quite-brother-in-law.' Roger's head appeared from beneath the front bumper of the little sports car. Lukas offered a hand to him, to help him up, but Roger declined with a smile, holding up hands that were black and grease-stained. 'Give me a moment to clean up.'

'Sure.'

Detective Wexler

Detective Robert Wexler pushed the button and announced himself over the intercom. A female voice answered, and unlocked the door. "Third door on the left." Wexler proceeded down the hallway, found the third door on the left, and found Dr. Laura Hutcherson, Medical Examiner for the Southeastern Pennsylvania-Northern Delaware police district, dressed in green surgical scrubs, drying her hands. He looked at the body on the table.

"Hi, Bob," she said, smiling. "How are things?"

The corner stone café.

All day jumbo breakfast £3.99.

Myriad aromas, countless mouth-watering tastes. An oasis of nostalgia amid hopelessness.

The carefully stencilled menu. Prices hand written next to each delightful dish.

All floated in his mind’s eye in sublime, memorized detail, furnishing this soothing corner of his soul where the embers of gladder times still glowed.

The Morning

I like my quiet. The quiet improves concentration and focus. The still and the calm forces one to look inward and to learn of oneself. It forces an individual to examine his or her feelings and thoughts, and get closer to the soul and essence of the character and personality.

Author's Note

I've taken it upon myself to change the name of the dominant race from Pyre, to PYR No reason;I just like it more.

7

'Ask your questions,' Je'Makh said. 'And I will answer as I may.'

The pair were seated once more in Ri'Shard's chambers. The Council meeting had dissolved, after all Eight had unanimously agreed to So'Hala's decree that Ri'shard be entrusted into Je'Makh's guardianship.

A Note on Ranks

Officer Ranks from Lowest to Highest
Lieutenant Junior
Second Lieutenant
First Lieutenant
Fourth Captain
Third Captain
Second Captain
First Captain
General

Commander is a title given to any officer who has had a combat command. He wears a gold sunburst on his or her left breast pocket. If a Commander has been wounded in combat, the sunburst is backed by yellow. If he has been wounded twice, it is backed by crimson.