Kroshka Moia, Chapter NineChapter Nine
It wasn't the buzzing of the blinding fluorescent lights above that awoke him; it wasn't the dead rain splattering onto the window across the room, nor was it the voices at his bedside who clearly knew nothing about whispering. His face stirred, his arm shifted above the white sheet outlining his still frame. Somewhere, the ticking of a clock quivered to his ears and a blanch rank climbed up his nostrils. He wanted to clog up his nose and cough and hack, but his body lay there, unresponsive.
"I just got here; how long has he been like this?"
"Since about a week ago, when they brought him in. These 'doctors' performed another surgery on him last night..."
"That's the third one...!"
"Did they even say what happened? Has anyone been able to contact his family?"
His fingers twitched ever so slightly, the muscles limp. The voices, how familiar they sounded! The three continued their banter and went on to demand a doctor to speak to them. He could barely grasp their n
Titleless AC FicThe tired Dai blinked his eyes open and groaned. Malik pushed himself off the counter and looked down at the maps that had engraved themselves into his mind. A hallway here, an exit there there was never something new in these maps, nothing his eyes didn't catch before. He picked up the inkwell and peered inside. Just barely enough for a few words. That fool Altair had to rush in and knock his new one over the other day before he was able to dip a pen in. Idiot.Titleless AC Fic4 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
As if on cue, the master assassin jumped in and Malik almost dropped the inkwell. He glared as Altair turned to him, a small smile playing on his face. What could he be so happy about? He thought as he sighed and went back to his work.
"You certainly look better, my friend." Malik had recently recovered from a mild fever in the past few days and Altair was by his bedside the whole time. It annoyed him to be treated like a child, but having Altair there gave him assurance that no harm would come to him.
"Why do you
Gunners, Chapter ThreeApril 29, 103 PNGunners, Chapter Three4 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
I hated traveling through the wastes at night.
The sound of my motorbike echoed through the eerie silence of the land, my flickering headlight offering little help of showing the path before me. I did my best to stray from the roads; they were a deathtrap for motorists, especially if one was traveling via highway overpass. People have done what they could to repair the roads, but it was mostly a waste of time.
It didn't matter to me; I hated heights. Anything higher than two stories found me huddling in a corner from fear and nausea, and my home in New York was no different. A few months after my father took in a young boy named Jacob, my biological brother, Harper, took he and I up to the roof of our building. My father found me clutching the crumbled chimney near a pile of that morning's breakfast. I can still remember the terrified look on Jacob's face; he thought he was the one responsible.
Jacob came into our family about three years ago, right after I graduated t
Gunners, Chapter TwoApril 27, 103 PNGunners, Chapter Two4 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
With my eyes peeled to the cracked tile floors, I grudgingly stepped towards a dim room, catching the rhythmic scratching of pen across paper. My heart fell to the bottom of my feet; the vulture was roosting in his nest, waiting to snap at the simplest sign of life passing his doorway. I stopped at the last second, scowling at the rusted nameplate nailed to the wall. Lawrence Fergus McDougal, Chief of Medicine – scribbled beneath, someone wrote 'King of the Grumps', and I couldn't help but grin at the truthful statement. Other names, such as 'British Bore', 'Stubby', and the classic 'Tommy Redcoat' were splashed over with paint or crossed out, but that did little to discourage the anonymous vandals. Gently, I pulled my duster closer to my body and turned.
“Running like a frightened mouse won't do much good for your shoulder, miss Edahsra.”
I shuddered at the scratchy, droll tone sifting down the hallway and pulling at my ears. Dammit, I was so close..
BenefitsBenefitsBenefits5 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
Masyaf, the great Syrian stronghold of the Assassiyun, was a self-sufficient town. Just like the lords and their serfs in Europe, the Assassins and townspeople had established their own situation of give and take. The Assassins would protect, the townspeople would provide. This social conduct had been established ever since Rashid al-Din Sinan made the stronghold powerful again.
Still, the services of the townspeople were not always sufficient, as unexpected repairs or campaigns sometimes required more funds than were naturally available. This was the reason many of the Hashashin performed several other tasks next to their usual assassinations to earn some more money for the Brotherhood or themselves. Some worked as hit men, others offered their skills as swordfighters to teach elsewhere and others simply sold items they had taken from their assassination victims.
Each of these Assassins managed to bring in their share of coin this way, but all of their earnings seemed
the editorI make bad things go away.the editor4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Hit man? No, it's nothing like that. No, not organized crime. Christ, kid, where do you get these ideas? I bet it's television. Or those goddamn video games you people are always playing. What? So now I'm being judgmental? Do you know what I could do with one scratch of my pen?
No, forget it. I'm a little tired, that's all. It's hard work, you know. If you'd just listen for a moment, I'll tell you.
I'm a city editor. Not like newspapers, no. You have to train a lifetime to do the kind of work I do. And even if you do train a lifetime, not everybody's got the brains for it, you know? Imagination, that's what I'm talking about! You're young. You know imagination, don't you?
Now don't be stingy with the bottle. I know you were just going to spend the money getting wasted is what you call it, right? Better I drink this poison anyway. You're not old enough to be ruining your liver.
Now as I was saying. City editor. You think it is about newspapers, hah! Shows
Patchouli GirlOn her front porch she had one of those little wooden step stools covered in potted flowers and various ceramic animals a frog, a squirrel, a giant ladybug. It struck me as strange, something my dead grandmother would have had on her front porch. It was definitely not the porch I had pictured as belonging to my first one night stand.Patchouli Girl4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I was a step behind her as she fumbled with her keys. I had been drinking, too much. Probably. All evening I had chewed on my fingernails, hoping the Captain and coke would give me the courage to deliver the witty, flirty lines I had rehearsed in my mind all week. I'm fairly sure it didn't work.
The door was red, and I thought again of my dead grandmother the horrid crimson sweater she knitted for me one Christmas, the one I had felt obligated to wear every December until the funeral. I think everyone has a horrid crimson sweater from their grandmother.
It seemed forever to me that she fumbled with her bulky keys, laughing and shooting me fli