Posted by Rich Magahiz
Mon, 07 Jul 2008 15:20:00 GMT
Looking down at him where he sat, slackjawed, perturbed, she slipped off her shoe, ran her foot into the slit pocket of his navy cashmere jacket, painted toenails and the ball of her foot touching the silk lining, jangling his keys and change. “So then, mister,” she whispered, “I believe we were talking about finances.”
Posted in fiction, prose | Tags 55 fiction, dream | no comments
Posted by Rich Magahiz
Sat, 21 Jun 2008 18:22:00 GMT
It was part ray gun, part flit gun. Morris held it carelessly. He
didn’t enjoy the fit of his nose filters, either.
Out of the dark came a slap on his cheek. The numb bite of arachnoid
analogue left him little time to aim. Straight to the face!
Unfortunately, she had filters of her own…
Posted in fiction, prose | Tags 55 fiction, short story | no comments
