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The Black Bag
The problem was simple, really. I was a little too drunk. Me and my buddy Jake, though, we found it simple to walk with a stagger and laugh a little too loud, a simple problem. The day was pretty good, pretty drunk.
The hours passed easy until Max came out of his pawnshop. Max never leaves his pawnshop. He looked so worried and strange I had to squint to be sure it was him. He got us interested, walking toward my buddy and me with trouble written all over his face. Trouble is something a man can relate to from time to time, somehow.
Max walked right up to us and put his hand on my shoulder, thowing me off balance for his remark.
"I need your help, boys," he said.
Jake laughed. "Hey, Max needs our help!"
I nodded and tried to look serious to hide the surprise that made me want to laugh too. I thought it could
The summer air was warm and thick, congealed in the afternoon haze. My hot breath hung limp about me, coddling my pores with sticky stupor. The occasional breeze cut through the sunlight and silence, stiffening the skin on my arms. My conscience was sprawled out a few inches away, unconcerned with the heat and the wind, gazing straight up into the slow-moving clouds, reduced to a languor, from our spot on the rooftop.
"Maybe," he said, "we should return it."
The silence had become so penetrating that his voice shook me from several layers of thought. I had, of course, been thinking -- but of what? The loose ends of my neurons were flickering and then... nothing. I cast a bemused glance at the plundered stop sign flung down near the ledge of the roof. I had no intention, no consideration even, of revisiting that corner of the abysmal suburbs, not even to survey my handiwork. The consequences and little sequential doubts and mental prickings lay strewn about, the little fragme
Lessons in Power
Wyatt Halliwell knew what it was to be important since the day he was born. As the son of a whitelighter and Piper Halliwell, the eldest and most powerful Charmed witch, he had been fawned over by fairies, nymphs and all sorts of good magical creatures all over the world. He had even been destined to be the most powerful force of good that the world was to ever meet; the Twice Blessed. As a newborn he was never in want for more attention.
He also learned that power was the key to everything from a young age. Just before his younger brother had been born an invisible force picked Wyatt up and teleported him into the deep dark caves of the Underworld. For the second year of his young life all he could remember was being literally stabbed in the back as fire and electricity pierced his small body. For what felt like hours on end he spent crying and screaming out for help that never came. Where were Mommy and Daddy? Why didn’t they rescue him? Didn’t they love him?
Chapter 2 - The Day Job
Matthew observed from the side as William strolled through the school gates, putting on a brave front as he smirked at the kids in the younger years and nodded at his fellow year ten students. Matthew knew only too well that being a fifteen year old lad at Bonus Herring High was hard enough without having to keep your reputation up. A lot was expected from William, being one of the most popular kids at school. He was captain of the swimming team, vice-captain of the chess team, a star football player, he managed to get good grades, and, on top of it all, he had the good looks. His vivid blue eyes were paired perfectly with his smooth, olive complexion and his fair hair. He was also extremely masculine with broad shoulders, muscular arms and an extensive chin. It must have felt good not having to worry about how you looked.
As William entered through the school lobby, Matthew followed and found himself admiring the beautiful architecture for the first time. The lobby was a stylish
A sea-like lover.
I have a lover like the sea;
he changes and washes
stretches wide and
I have lover like the shores;
he's got June-like dunes
and softish sands
that stroke and lap your feet.
I have a lover like the breeze;
that warm breeze,
that draws you close with sticky skin,
cuddling you waist deep.
I have a lover like the depths;
his ever sinking empathy
drags you down,
down with understanding.
I have a lover like the spray;
laughing and bright.
There are many aspects of the sea
that fit him well
the wild, the worldly, the universal and swell.
I am most thankful for one un-sea-like lover
in this one truth; an ocean can't be held.
They say when I was first laid in my mother's arms, she gave me back to the nurse and said, "No. This is not a child of mine."
My father is the "they" I mean, the only one I heard tell that story. I guess he figured she meant it, because right away he took me as far from the Zuni reservation and my mother as we could get.
I don't remember being a little baby. I mean, who does? But I know my father drove his old car, with him and me and supplies, for miles and miles and miles. I hated that car. And he talked a lot, my Dad. He'd say, "Hey, freak. We're gonna cross a state line again. Mark it on the map." Or, "Hey, ghost boy. I gotta stop here for a few days. I'll set you up in a motel."
When my father said "set you up in a motel," he meant he'd get some half-drunk Indian to watch me, or more likely, to watch TV. He always went somewhere else. Some of those Indians fed me and some didn't, just like my father. I mean, it's like when I