
A NIGHT WITHOUT ARMOR by Robert Long Foreman
Tamberlyn fell on the pavement, hard. Her body slapped against it. It sounded like someone dropped a lot of meat.
Tamberlyn fell on the pavement, hard. Her body slapped against it. It sounded like someone dropped a lot of meat.
On my way out of the closet I noticed a trunk at the edge of the bed… An antique padlock hooked through the clasp, but it was unlatched, so I slid it out and opened the trunk.
She hits the button to go live and slowly eats something. It could be anything: an apple, a banana, a small granola bar. Comments fly in, encouraging her.
Since I met MOLI she has of course been my vital thing.
How sad is to witness the deflection of someone from your own ethnicity, who breathes the same air, eats the same dishes, but is enemy to your land’s ethos?
The plague, the Good Prophet told them, was a judgment, and it would lay Harpers to waste if they did not repent, so they begged the Lord for mercy.
About five minutes after merging onto I-95 south, Karl’s mattress flew from the car’s roof. This was despite Tom’s best efforts; he had found a ball of twine in the back of Karl’s ex-girlfriend’s closet and managed a couple of extra loops around. Before its departure, the mattress had flopped on the roof like some overzealous wrestler. As, in the rearview mirror, Karl’s mattress frisbeed over the shoulder, Tom felt the stinging heat of resentment rise at the base of his throat. Once again, Karl would need someone else to help him out of a jam of his own making.
Death makes us horny! And I’m trying to see if all the cumming affects my fever.
Cal gazes up in adoration, face illuminated in the glow of outdated technology, and tears stream down his face.
Perhaps by now they weren’t the most well-adjusted people they’d ever been. Perhaps by now they’d become, even to themselves, a little strange.