The wind's only whistling quietly but it's enough to take him by surprise when the door opens and the silence is broken by it. A figure, face masked by a black helmet, stands in the doorway, letting the sand begin to slowly push its way in, before taking two steps forward, heavy boots thudding on the floor, and letting the door swing closed behind them. Their leather jacket lifts slightly as they reach for the helmet, revealing a sliver of a torn blue shirt beneath it. The removal of the helmet allows a cascade of dark hair to fall out and piercing brown eyes to be seen. The man, who has been frozen behind the bar since he heard the creaking of the door opening, adjusts his position to face the (intruder) square in. "How much is a stiff drink …show more content…
You don't even leave the bar; why would you need them?" His face is a bright red now. "I don't know it's just. It's complicated ok? You can look at it if you want." He adds quickly, desperately wanting to change the subject. "And I can tell you all I know about the changes she predicted but it's not much." "Thanks. Although I don't want to freeze, I also don't want to die before I even get there." "I'd recommend you go see her but Zone 6 isn't small and I have no idea where she'll be." "It's fine; don't worry about it. I'll take a look at what you've got. Can't have changed too much recently." No one really knows how The Cockroach does it but she's found a way to keep herself stocked with infinite numbers of maps of the Zones. Most people reckon she took them from the city, as if there are rooms there stacked with prints of the surrounding areas. Ghost reckons she traces one but that introduces the new problem of paper. That's not something you come across often enough these days. In the end only she really knows and there are as many theories as there are zonerunners. He spreads the sheet out on the counter and take a seat next to her as she quickly tries to get to work deciphering the colours on …show more content…
"I don't know what you're talking about." She tells him but as she turns back to study the map she can't stop a memory of a girl with sparkling eyes and head thrown back in laughter cross her mind. "Stop it." She warns herself. "Sorry?" "No that wasn't... Not you" She (dedicates herself) to remembering the route she's traced out in an attempt to distract her (disloyal) mind. Focussing on the details, mapping Drac patrol routes over her own track across the desert, estimating timings, she manages to concentrate on the important things. She'll pass through two light orange areas and she can't stay in them for more than half a day, Dracs'll be around Zone 4 between 11 and 1 and then again from 10 at night with much faster bikes than her so she can't risk being on the road any time near then. It seems like the more times passes, the less she can afford to be careless. "You leaving?" "Probably should; Toxic isn't gonna find themself." "I guess... Surely you can spare a night though. The wind will be hell in an hour, maybe less. Just stay
It was close upon four before the door opened, and a drunken-looking groom, ill-kempt and side-whiskered with an inflamed face and disreputable clothes, walked into the room. Accustomed as I was to my friend’s amazing powers in the use of disguises, I had to look th...
THE PAST :.. In days gone by, the four species managed to live in perfect harmony. Witches, werewolves and vampires lived in secret, blending in with the humans on a daily basis - and the humans remained completely in the dark about their existence. It was after thousands of years of living this way, whilst everything was completely normal, that a small group of vampires decided that they’d had enough. They spent months devising plans.
The first half of my book “The Cellar” written by Natasha Preston, was so good that I could not put the book down. The girl, at that point, had no memories which include her name and anything before she woke up on a dirty, bloody cabin floor. She looked down at her throbbing hand and found that two of her fingernails were missing.
“Yes, I brought a pair of trainers with me. But don’t you need somebody to stay close by to the hotel?”
I'm elbow-deep in the Ford Pinto of grandfather clocks when my phone buzzes from the back pocket of my jeans. I wince with irritation, because if I let go of this wire now, I'm going to have to start all over. Leave it to my father to buy a Schwegler clock during a six month fad that's now into its second century of pissing me off. Fucking thing keeps time like a lamp. I pull the phone out of my pocket with my free hand.
It's 10:45 P.M at night but Adam and Mom are yelling at eachother, making as much noise as humanly possible. I called Cleo to see if the dogs and I could spend the night, but she didn't pick up. My last resort is Pierson, I reluctantly call him. Hoping he isn't drunk or at some party. The thing is, I've never been to the place Pierson lives.
"Kellin!" Vic screamed as he quietly swung the door open. I'm sure he expected me to be changing or in the shower, but instead he found me hunched over a toilet bowl emptying my stomach. Great. "Kells, w-what the hell! Stop!
Although she knows that his treatment is only making her worse she continues with it and even felt guilty for doubting his treatment. She has been programmed to believe that the men are always right and the unbalanced power positions have left her without the courage and self-esteem to speak up for herself. As time goes by, due to the lack any meaningful activity, purpose, or social stimulation, she becomes fascinated with the shadows in the wallpaper. But her curiosity slowly turns into obsession and she believes that there are secrets within the wall and she must figure it out.
The phone rang twice now, and the lean figure of the half naked man sprawled on the plush queen size bed finally groans. It's a classical one, D Major, one to sooth a lover of fine music. He's not a lover of such music, however, he's into blues and jazz, but it didn't escape him the wish to strangle the person who put that tune on his phone. How he wish it meant as a joke. The person who customize the tune clearly wants to piss him off.
It all began with a simple phone call one morning just as I was waking up. “Trevor” my father hollered up the stairs, “It’s for you. It’s Jenny King, and she sounds upset” As I dragged my feet down the stairs to pick up the phone, I was not happy. I was exhausted from going to bed late last night, I had a horrendous headache, and I was looking forward to a nice quiet morning at home, binge watching T.V all day and taking naps. Thirty minutes later, however, Jenny’s blue Ford Explorer swung into our driveway.
she always used to wish for a way to escape her life. She saw memories
“I guess we do have to stay. I mean it was my idea after all. I can’t chicken out on this.” I say standing back up. “And Maggie gave me something to use in a time like this.” Grinning, I pull out the potions Maggie gave me.
The Creature That Opened My Eyes Sympathy, anger, hate, and empathy, these are just a few of the emotions that came over me while getting to know and trying to understand the creature created by victor frankenstein in Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. For the first time I became completely enthralled in a novel and learned to appreciate literature not only for the great stories they tell but also for the affect it could have on someones life as cliché as that might sound, if that weren’t enough it also gave me a greater appreciation and understanding of the idiom “never judge a book by its cover.” As a pimply faced, insecure, loner, and at most times self absorbed sophomore in high school I was never one to put anytime or focus when it came time
"The person said something bad occurred at Sally's, and I should hurry. I hope one of those—those malfunctions she’s always helping didn’t hurt her. You know how she is. Everyone’s tried to warn her, but she won't listen."
"I'll start my search there. We won't lose hope that she may still be alive, but don't lose your sense of reality either." His voice had a coldness to it and his face looked like someone whose life was taken out of him.