| There are ants in my Lucky Green Boots |
Circulation: 193,831,355 |
Issue: 717 | 29th day of Sleeping, Y18 |
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Around and Around They Go...
by sophieauditore
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Great stories!
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 He'd Have To Wait
The foliage was springy underpaw as Lopez stepped through the jungle, a camera strung around his neck. After a pawstep, the leaves would jump right back up to where they had been a second before. As the Kougra walked on, the sun grew fainter and fainter, the surroundings growing dark. Bright green plants changed into dark bushes as he walked on.
by jrayeb3 |
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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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 Duplicity: Part Eight
“You have already violated the common law once, Jeran, and however good your intentions may be, there will be dire consequences if you decide to do it again. We will not allow it.”
by likelife96 |
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