What is Real

"Wake up Isaac."
    He jumped awake. He didn't recognize his surroundings, and his memory was blank.
    In a moment he recognized a hospital bed, in a sterile blue and white room. He had tubes on his arm and head, and a machine next to him beeped loudly. Several nurses stood around him.

An Average Man

"I really think you've made a mistake!"
    "That's no way for a hero to talk, Oliver!" The man across from Oliver said, pumping a fist in the air. Above their heads, the helicopter's blades chopped. "Your country needs you! I need you!"
    "No, I really think you don't!" Oliver Bascombe, systems administrator for the CIA's Del Pune division, a city in the country of Pangke, said. "This isn't my expertise!"
    "Nonsense!" Bradley Tonman responded. "You're exactly the kind of man we need for this job!"

First Star I See Tonight

This concludes the story begun in "Star Light," and continued in "Star Bright."

Star Bright

This continues the story begun in "Star Light."

Star Light

The inn was built to handle the rain, like all other buildings in the area -- in the world. Steep, sloped roofs, diverting gutters, and a raised floor over a huge grill that led underground, to let the rain gather together in a giant reservoir under the village. The heavy, everlasting clouds hung over the roof and poured rain all day, just like the last day, last month, and last year. It had been raining for longer than anyone could remember.

The Princess, the Wizard's Daughter, and the Almost-Right Knight

Fact: Twelve children under the age of eighteen are killed by bats each year

The Freedom of Space

"Captain, there's something on the sensors," lieutenant Chambers said. He swiveled in his chair and looked over his shoulder at Mohinder Omja, Captain of the Blind Man. "It's big."
    "What sort of big?" Omja asked, rising from his chair in the center of the room and joining the lieutenant at his console. "Another ship?"
    Chambers shook his head. "Much bigger, sir. I'm trying to calibrate the sensors to pick it up better."
    "A planet?"
    "No sir. Bigger." The lieutenant tapped on his computer. He squinted at confusing numbers. "Good Lord."
    "What is it?"
    "According to this, sir," the lieutenant said, "the object in front of the ship is lightyears long."
    The command deck of the interstellar ship went quiet. "I'm sorry lieutenant. Did you say lightyears?"
    "Yes sir. The sensors can't grasp its full size," the lieutenant said. He pointed at the numbers on his screen. Captain Omja leaned in and studied them.
    "Kerrigan, come here," he called. The woman stood next to him. "Look." Omja pointed at the screen and the numbers. Kerrigan looked. Her stony face changed to confusion and mystery.
    "I don't believe it," she whispered, standing straight. "Captain, do we send a team?"
    "Of course we do! This is incredible! A structure this big! Get our best people ready to go. Lieutenant, how far are we?"
    "We'll be within landing distance in a day, Captain."

The Water Balloon Fight

On a small street, in a small town, two small gas stations sat across the road from each other. The fancy lights and utter convenience of the big city stations were far from there; here only was the dire need for a car's fuel, coffee in the morning, hot dogs at noon, and slushies for the kids at night. The fuel prices were controlled not by the electronic signs that you might see these days, but cards with numbers on them. Whenever the prices would change, each gas station's building would release a man to climb on the ladder and make the numbers correct

Low Notes

A man and his son sat together in a small office at a college, waiting for the woman across the desk to respond. The father wore a button down shirt and slacks, but the boy wore a plain white T-shirt and blue jeans. The boy did not move or speak; in fact he seemed uncomfortable at all times.

Helpers LTD

Floyd S. Irving was not the kind of person to worry. His job, such as it was, did not worry him, nor did his simple home life. He lived on his own, in a small, tidy studio apartment where he cooked his soups and made his sandwiches and went to work as a truck driver for the libraries, carting books back and forth. He loved the books and loved the truck and loved the people he worked with. He was not a rich man, but he didn't worry about that. He didn't get out of his apartment very much, and some might have said he was antisocial, but it wouldn't have bothered him if he'd heard them. He was, simply, an uncomplicated man, self-assured that he enjoyed his life.

Intruder

Please note: The following story contains adult elements, and may not be suitable for children.

Mercedes drove a Mercedes; the coincidence tickled her. The new car felt full of possibilities and strength. It was a sleek, small thing with a black exterior and a plush leather interior. Chrome framed it, and flashed in the passing streetlights. She headed down the dark street toward her tall apartment building.

Beyond the Desired Part Two

This is the resolution of the story "Beyond the Desired."

Beyond the Desired

Old Lida, it was called, the strange thing. At the hours of six A.M., noon, six P.M., and midnight, it would ring out in its stuttering, gasping, two-tone sound. Cast hundreds of years ago – some say as far back as the fourteenth century, later brought to America – It had been on top of the Baptist Church on Montgomery Road for as long as Green Valley had been a town. The first ring was as many bells were: clear, distinct, high. The second, though, was lower and heavy. It remains the only church bell that is able to ring two sounds just on its own in the world; nobody is sure how it happens. Its many detractors say that is the only reason it is kept ringing, waking people in the night. There is the odd death-knell, or a fire spotted, but for the most part Lida swings away four times a day, sounding ding-dong . . . ding-dong at the appointed time.

A Favor

Don Harrison wandered in the short aisles of The Finery, a classy shop that featured pots and art and other things he didn't care about. The shop was filled with boring, light music, and the scent of flowers or something lingered in every corner. Waiting for him. He slouched through the rows, fingering with tasteful disdain the works that looked like . . .

Good Omens

Another day would only bring more tired weakness, and send her back into herself; there was nothing good outside she could see. People would yell at her, her boss would berate her for a simple mistake, and she would spend the night in her small, hot room waiting for the darkness so she could slip into a dream. She liked her dreams, but they made the world seem dark by comparison.

A Carnival to Remember

"It's on. They're doing it,"
    Hector's father watched him put his spoon down in his bowl of cereal and glare up at him. "How? How could they possibly do that? After... everything!"
    "It's the county's biggest money-making event all year. Of course they're going to do it," Hector's mother said from the stove. Muted sunlight intruded the small kitchen through the dirty window in front of her. "And it's been a small crop this year. Everyone needs to make up their losses."
    Hector shook his head once, angrily. His hair, the same color as the corn that flooded the county, flopped over. He pushed away from the table with a crash and stomped to his room. His parents heard the door slam.
    "Oh brother. He didn't even finish his breakfast," Mrs. Donnerson said. Mr. Donnerson sighed and sat at the table as his wife placed a plate of pancakes in front of him. He picked up the paper and scanned the front headline: 'County Board Votes Harvest Carnival Will Happen.'

Find the Exit

Steven Napoleon drove on in the night. The black sky had no lights dotting it, no circle of the moon. Steven did not wonder why. The tires of his car passed over the smooth, darkly reflective asphalt without sound. His headlights showed him circles of freedom beyond the windshield, and the streetlights illuminating the highway dribbled orange over his car. He was alone on the road. Neither tail lights nor headlights could be seen as he drove down the highway. It seemed to be going on for quite a while, and he wasn't very sure why he drove, but he drove.

The Hungry River

It was a hot, dry summer. Crops withered. The rain did not come. The sun baked down on the people that tilled in the fields as they prayed for water. The land around the Capital was cooled only by the  river that flowed next to it. The tall palace, made of such pretty white stone, stood on the eastern side of the sprawling metropolis. The hungry river, too weak to support many crops, gurgled past its base.

An Adventure

She'd never felt quite like this. When she saw him, when she felt him, her heart fluttered and jumped. She was in love.
     His swept blond hair, almost white, and his square jaw that broke into a dazzling grin, and the strong arms that wrapped around her and made her feel safer than she ever had before. He smelled right, felt right, sounded right. Without him she would feel empty.
     If he went too long between visits, or was too busy at work to spend time with her, she would sulk in her room or on the couch as her two roommates lived out their lives around her.
     But then he would appear again, and breathe life back into her.

The Flight, the Hunt

"January twelfth, Linda Staren reporting.
     Police were summoned to the home of Dr. and Brenda Jacobson yesterday morning after a concerned neighbor reported strange sounds before sunrise. The police found the house unlocked and in a state of disarray, eventually discovering the brutally slaughtered body of Brenda Jacobson in her bedroom.
     Paul Jacobson, a scientist with multiple degrees, works in a nearby lab, but the police were unable to get in touch with him. Later in the day, an assistant at the lab made a call to 911 to report another body, that of Kyle Den. Den was also an assistant, working under Dr. Jacobson.
     Dr. Jacobson still has not been found, and he is currently the prime suspect for the murders. He is five feet and ten inches tall, approximately two hundred and thirty pounds, with thinning black hair, glasses, and a graying beard. He has minute scars on his hands, and a small acid scar on his right cheek. The authorities want to warn the public that if Dr. Jacobson is seen, do not approach him. He should be considered dangerous.
     Dr. Jacobson was in the process of working on a revolutionary system of mirrors and lenses that..."