The lantern's white-yellow light proffers a soft circle, a small illumination bubble to hold back the miles of darkness overhead. You count off the last fifty paces in this corridor, and stop. When you bring the lantern close to the cave floor, you find the same symbol you'd seen in the last three rooms--an eye floating above three wavy lines. Your heart sprints and your belly turns inside out.
A block from the bright neon sanctuary of a well-traveled gas station, we lost the tread on our left rear tire
Remy walks into the old Victorian's entryway shaking twilight frost from his trenchcoat. His movements are awkward as his right arm is immobilized in a sling. He does the best he can with his left hand to brush away the frosted condensation.
Usually, The Well-Read Woman's Literary Sofa Society meets every Thursday from 7:00-9:00 in the basement of A Darn Good Yarn: Craft Supply and Bookstore. But tonight three of its four members have arrived fifteen minutes early to discuss the membership of the most recent addition to their select circle.
While we waited on the tow truck, we flipped through the convention's schedule for the hundredth time that week, checking to make sure we were each going to the right panels at the appropriate time. There was no way we were going to miss the talk on adapting comics into films. There were some tremendous names attached to that panel.
A week after her sixth birthday Franny Hollis learned that time travel was possible through her swing set. And like many of the world's greatest scientific discoveries, temporal shifts via swing set came to light quite by accident.
You climb from the second story window of Haunted House #3, and pause to brush the cobwebs from your hair. Behind you in the room, you hear the troupe of ghouls who'd chased you from the basement attempting to muscle their way through the door, and you hope the Ultra Stick Taffy spell you cast on the jamb holds long enough for you to escape.
In the preface to his essay collection, Zen in the Art of Writing, Ray Bradbury writes "And what, you ask, does writing teach us? First and foremost, it reminds us that we are alive and that it is a gift and a privilege, not a right. We must earn life once it has be awarded us. Life asks for rewards back because it has favored us with animation" (xii).