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By Lars Wehman Dabney in Issue #464 of Beneath Ceaseless Skies Online Magazine Anatolio allowed her to argue a little further, for he could respect that she needed to be heard before ordering the deaths of those who trusted her for only the paltry sake of a distraction. But at last he played the card they both knew he held, which was the antlere...
You know you are fucked when you see fragments of the broken radio on the floor. Your damaged ship lay nose caked into the sand, and coupled with your sprained ankle that hums an excruciating pain, and slight concussion on your head—your chances of survival in this unknown territory has now drastically dropped. In your first year as a space cade...
I made eye contact today. I knew my life leaked, droplets of soul seeping from my pores, and I did not care. For those eyes were a pale sage glass, […]