Kylan

The bullets rattled off the side of the Seatrekker's hull like rain on a tin roof; pattering, hissing, daring me to peek out the lace draped porthole of my executive ...

****DON't read unless finished with The mafia... part one Captain Jonathan Ende set the intercom radio back in it's cradle and stared at his hands. He had been doing this ...

Millions. They say the old man was worth that much It said so on his bank statement And stock portfolio. His wealth was measured by His fleet of Italian cars ...

September the 6th 2001 10:22 pm Willy's Sports bar, Hollywood Florida The bar was loud and raucous. People were crowded against people, bellowing, shouting, mixing body odor, slopping alcohol down ...

Leaves shuffled across the simple looking wooden coffins; whispering and rustling like the pages of an old book, breaking the solemn silence and interrupting the quiet sobs. They made their ...

Adams stared reverently down at the petri cells holding his first successfully injected eggs. The little spits of biomass looked like eyes – hundreds of fragile, half-transparent eyes – returning ...

*There is a prologue to this!!!* To: Julian_Dair@whitehouse.govFrom: President Dair, For the past three decades the Original preservation inhibitor (OPI) has kept us one step ahead of the Clones. As ...

CHAPTER 2 As soon as the technician pressed the detonation button, the test building fairly vanished. In a violent swarm of wood splinters and steel beams, the building shattered and ...

Two black vans sped down the road; sirens wailing, lights flashing. Houses, signs, and streetlights flickered past like lightning, reflecting off of the vans' tinted windows as they roared in ...

CHAPTER 3 Shen Grisinger listened vaguely to the OPI scanner as he pulled on the cheap marijuana joint, filled every square inch of his lungs with smoke and held it ...

(This is a re-write I did of the end of the play. Even though it's not my best piece, I think you'll all enjoy it. It's a tad long, but ...

A five shot Remington with pump action and a plastic magazine is my only companion in these halls. These concourses of rejection - Ad nauseum. Barrels the size of quarters ...

This was written for a school assignment. We were supposed to write a personal narrative piece of poetry based on the poem "Where I'm From" By Geore Ella Lyons. It's ...

She was bleeding pheromones like a dying soldier fatally wounded, hemorrhaging, exuding attraction by the gallon. The way she walked Seductively, celestially killed them (One down, only God knows how ...

Pink Jasmine blossoms fall pirouetting with the utmost grace – like a rigidly trained Russian coryphée, whose toes bleed after every performance: the gun shot wounds of dedication and carte ...

[pre]Germany, May 10th 1933[/pre] “Säuberung!” The massive crowd roared deeply, a titanic, subterranean monster, marching around the bonfire which casted deep, rutted shadows across the universit

Beneath the rose nothing is repeated. Mouths and eyes and ears are stitched shut surgically and what has been mounted on the doorway never wilts, never droops; needles, like diamonds, ...

“Imagination is the one weapon in the war against reality.” - Jules de Gaultier Ivan locked the door. Crossing the apartment room, he fingered the plastic bag in his coat ...

I haven't done any formal editing with this, so it may seem a little rough. That's okay. I want you guys to help me edit this. I'm using it for ...

Mikhail Vandesky stood on the bridge beside Vladamir, watching the leaden water flowing beneath him like liquid steel – swirling, heaving, breathing as it coursed against the struts of the ...

Patience drips like sweat from his pores (coagulating rivers bridging his nose); a shark whose victims bleed fist-sized cue balls. Cigarette smoke haunts the graveyard with spherical tombstones. And t

Cal's Something Old Contest (0.46 [Kiss]) This is a scene from the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory Fire which can be read abouthere As I looked up I saw a love affair ...

Names are carved into brick walls (stained with the swollen black blood of trains) like graphite voices from wooden slats and steel rails, oxidized with loose feet and creased carpet ...

David cries little tears of glass, raining onto celestial tapestries: stars that corrupt the sky like pinpoint screams, punctured by iron spiders. Molotov cocktails breathe to the tempo of dystopia ...

For Sam, seeing as it's her birthday a quiver-full of piñata birds with intestine strings wadded up like crumpled candy wrappers. delicate wings as fragile as the bones in a ...

our lips are engaged in a cold war and I can't help pointing my middle finger up at Sputnik – a single pixel on the bitmap of our radar – ...

Look at her! that girl without her face covered up, all open and fresh, but as brown as a dripping tea bag above [chipped china]. Look at the dust in ...

They are always watching. I stand among them. Watching me with their soft eyes. Sluffing the ground with their trunks, brushing around me, so close I could reach out and ...