Editor's Log - October 5, 2164 - When I was commissioned to begin this task, I never imagined the sheer volume of terrible work I would wade through. Of course, I was never programmed to imagine in the first place.
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Her arthritis shot lightning bolts of pain up her back, along her arm, and into the joints of her withered hand. But she was glad to be out of the house, serving her community, and doing a good deed. The Blood Bank made it clear that Volunteers were one of their greatest assets, after the collected blood.
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And then there was Nothing. Which was at least Something. Andre swept his hand across the place where the mouse had been moments ago. Nothing. No fur, no tail, no ears, no eyes. No treat, no crumbs, nothing remained. At last!
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On the shelf, DVDs were ordered by release date - It's a Wonderful Life (1946), H.G. Wells' The Time Machine (1960), Somewhere in Time (1980), Time Bandits (1981), Flight of the Navigator (1986), Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure (1989), Terminator 2 (1991), Groundhog Day (1993), Twelve Monkeys (1995)…
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Tony DeLorenta ran through the dark corridor in search of an exit. He stumbled up a flight of stairs. He fumbled with the handrail which was broken in several places. His foot crashed through the landing at the top of the staircase. All told, Tony was in a tough situation.
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She placed her hot hand on the cold wood. The hinge squeaked in protest as the porch door flapped open. Linda Julip stepped out into the night and a raging storm. The rain pelted her face, soaked her hair, and made her white silk blouse translucent.
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Tim lay on the thick carpet in front of the old television playing Nintendo. The plastic block in his hand tilted left, then right, in an effort to will the 8-bit character further with each move. His thumb darted left and mashed the Start button to freeze the action.
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The light burst from the ends of her tangled hair, and the tips of her dirty fingernails. It shot from every crease of her tan skin, and poured from the wide open portals formed by her eyes and mouth.
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The neighborhood was on the wrong side of the tracks. That was clear to see from the outside of each home which lined Swanson Street. Paint peeled from shoe box-sized houses built to shelter working men and women each night when they returned from hard labor in the small industrial town. Life was hard on Swanson Street. No one would argue that point.
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"What's with all the coconuts?" Shawn shouted across the narrow strip of beach to Emily.
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Along the dust-covered trail, fox, and quail sprinted between golden aspen. Fall swept into the rendezvous camp meeting with the bear-covered trappers, and rugged mountain guides of the Rocky Mountain west. Among them, Jedidiah Cleveland.
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The house slumped on the overgrown lot like a forgotten bum beside a dead railway station. Blank windows looked out over a little town like sunken eyes void of life. Cracked steps and a front door hanging on rusted nails grinned at walkers who passed.
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