E very kid on the High Lines knew they weren’t supposed to play on the zeppelin tracks, but that was most of the fun for Diarmid and his brothers. Enough boys had died in the far drop to keep it thrilling. And the high of success was exhilarating enough to keep them coming back.
i f you had believed in the old tales, you wouldn’t have gone out when the full ice moon rose in a satin sky and shone down milky white, like a blind eye, its silver river reflecting daylight-brilliant across the unblemished snow; no footprints to follow––man nor beast––only a feeling that something uncanny skulked beneath
W hen the knock came, Penny had thought it would be insistent and bold. The way she remembered him. Instead, it fluttered, hesitant, against the door like the wings of a broken bird. She might have missed it if she hadn’t been waiting for it. He’d been smart to send a runner ahead to let
M emo to whoever finds this floating hunk of half-chewed junk: You might think it’s odd to come across a wooden capsule adrift in space. You also might think it would be a bad idea to build a spaceship out of that same wood. And you’d be right, but not because
Dennis Scriber’s recent activity on BottomsUp: The World’s #1 Beer-Rating App Pure Bliss Milk Stout Authentic West Brewing Co. 3.7/5 Beer rated on Friday, April 19, 5:34 p.m. Thick and creamy with hints of toffee on the back end. Velvety mouthfeel. I drank this one on the bus to the mall. Not many other passengers. Either
A lex looks down the cliff, then stares at me, rolls his eyes as if I wouldn’t dare, and I stare back at him because I can’t believe him, I can’t believe what he’s suggesting, he says, I’ll jump if you jump, and I take a look down at the deep blue waters, inviting but