I ran my hand idly over the top of the old stone fence, the roughness of it warm in the afternoon soon. It was pitted and scarred by years of sun and rain; the hands that had built it must have run to bone long
We lay in the grass with the sun on our stomachs and watched the clouds scud over the eaves of the house, never to return. Susan reached out a lazy hand and pulled on a long piece of grass, tsking under her breath when she
Ross ran, his feet drumming one hollow boom after another on the brushed steel steps. The big solid slabs of grey metal thrummed and bounced with the force of his footfalls. With his left hand, he grabbed the railing and hauled desperately with the big
We hung what we could think of around the tree stump; small tokens and memories and promises of remembrance. We tried not to think of the headlights flaring over the place where a tree had been, not so long ago. We tried to not to
I held the die in my hands and visualised as clearly as I could. Six. That was all I wanted. Six. If I could make it happen, somehow make it happen, then I could do anything. After this… roulette tables. Craps tables. Lottery numbers. Anything
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I read the Norse myths when I was a kid. The Prose Edda, I think, that was the name of it. What I could never figure was the whole, whaddayacallit, overarching theme. Sure – run around, cut a bunch of heads off, do your thing.