| Come dance with the Wanderers... |
Circulation: 193,831,355 |
Issue: 717 | 29th day of Sleeping, Y18 |
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Dinner with the Scarlets: Morning Matters
by june_scarlet
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Great stories!
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 Zapped and Pounded
I looked around my cage. There was no way to tell if it was day or night, not in this dark, windowless space. The only furnishings the room held was a small cot and a sink in the corner. My food and water bowls were empty, not that they were very full to start with. Three stone walls surrounded me, my only connection to the outside world being through the rusty bars of the cage.
by light_faerie382 |
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 Heavy Metal
A Mote. A particle, or speck of dust. A tiny, inconsequential amount of something, usually pictured floating off to nowhere. A little bit of somethingness to punctuate the nothingness. This might be what always made me uneasy, when I thought of motes - that emphasis of space. At least, I think it was; before that day, when I started thinking something else.
by placebo_533 |
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