(Mostly in the past six months)
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Saturday, November 13, 2010
The ring consisted of a simple ebony circle set in the dirt, and it contained two combatants. The first was a man, about twenty-five years old and six feet tall, lanky enough to be languid. He rolled one wrist in a circle, then the other, and repeated the motion with his shoulders. He proceeded to crack each knuckle systematically, not the half-conscious habit of someone filled with nerves. Most lazy bystanders would peg him as a playboy European, or even American, just talented enough a fighter to try his luck in the ring. The only indications otherwise were the way he moved, and the outlines of weapons sheathed on his back, hidden by his black duster. A few raindrops fell, striking and rolling from the jacket, which had the discreet shimmer of expensive fabric.
Monday, November 8, 2010
She emptied the cup of flour into the bowl, watching the residual cloud rise like vapor. He sat at the table, snickering at some meme-based website, probably. It shouldn't bother her he assumed control of her computer, she told herself as she shook powdered cinnamon into the bowl. Picking up a fork, she began pressing the flour and cinnamon into the butter-egg-sugar confection at the bottom of the bowl, mixing it in slow, circular motions. It did, though, a silly little thought nagging the corner of her mind.
Posted by Edge at 10:52 PM