pseudoaddiction7

The laboratory door teased open. Stonework muzzled the tormented wails from above. A Feheling Church lantern ate its candle wax to self-extinguishment. I observed these, that is, as long as I loitered in one nightmare, not glorifying myself in the next. “Is that you, Lady Caterina?” A prisoner projected to my ear a sane mind within this hell. Belt buckles persuaded her famished wrists away from the table-side surgical tools. A gelatinous orb had replaced the maiden’s visage atop her sullied gown. Around us, the Feheling Church mad doctors chuckled in their wheelchairs. They all had become so whiskered drunk that they surrendered to their own world domination. Toothless grins vacuously hung on their sloppy, maroon lips. Did I stumble upon their latest specimen? “Please,” importuned she, “I need help. Won’t you lend me your aid, Lady Caterina?” I knew that name. Here every patient muttered “Caterina” like the brothers who all as one consoled the tempted within their cloister. It

Other Shoe Dropped Saturday Some years ago, on a Wednesday Tandra scrunched one foot behind the other when Jayne fell in love. The linoleum contrasted the scratchy sole above it, resembling only the shiny, fluorescent toe calluses there, too. The collegial lights overhead clarified where effulgent arch met chalky bottom. Tandra’s fascinating body confirmed, in so many words: it and the floor had met. Jayne relished in her privacy. Tall Tandra pointed forward one redhead, two eyes and her sculpted heel, all while short Jayne admired from behind. Unbrushed cherry-blonde bangs could enhance a pair of voyeuristic glasses, after all. Her well-known jitteriness made typical her rhythmic leg motions. Class carried on nonplussed by its perverted attendants. Session ended when Tandra let slip the green eyes to tell Jayne, “carry my books for me. That’s a good start, don’t you think?” God’s well-scaled nose upon Tandra’s face sweetened the broad, happy lips. “Y-yes, okay,” agreed

Eleven years passed since the Vyndicate fell, and peace had returned to the city. However, the peace did not last forever. The Wyndicate - a conglomerate owned by the heiress to Ms. V, the Vyndicate head - viciously seized control of the city. Maxwell Foan, Phase Sheelding, McCoy Playa and Berry Bunter, all stood up to the Wyndycate … on their … …feets of rage… They fought in the broken glass streets, on the foamy beaches, by the undulating sea vessels, and up the ascending elevators. Their righteous adventure closed in on ultimate justice. The inexhaustible kick-buttness escalated them by helicopter to a high-rise, the enemy headquarters. The mysterious Wyndicate head watched stonily through glass at the destruction. Her palace gates admitted four vigilantes, did they? She ran her white-gloved fingers through her short-cut winter hair. Her aquamarine eyes burned for control over each challenger to her dominion. Rouge pursed with farinaceous