Genretrash Safari
I can hop genres! Look at me go!
Starfire Nights
Rear Admiral Jack Manning had only moments to think. The Xeq’tralian warship, covered in the blood of a thousand human colonies, was bearing down on his ship, the USS Moscow-Tokyo, at between .9 and .95 times the speed of light. He gritted his teeth bravely; his chest was ready for combat; there were a lot of medals on it (one for saving the President). He ordered his gunnery chief, Lara Lei, to open fire with everything they had.
Politics, Part II
The peaceful neighborhood centered on Cambridge Street was, put shortly, enveloped with a case of dire suburbia. All but one of the lawns (Trent’s) were the lush sort of green that can only be attained by wasting irresponsible amounts of water, all but one of the houses (Trent’s, too) were identical in construction and and color palette. The streets, flanked by perfectly straight rows of perfectly trim evergreen trees, were so clean that one could eat off of them, and, at ten at night, the place was already as silent as a deaf-mute mouse. Even that one less than standard house that sat behind a decidedly unkempt lawn sat quiet and inconspicuous, its incredibly stylish inhabitant either sleeping or out as his abode’s exterior paint stretched out to breathe.
Politics, Part I
It was as hot a Saturday as any other in Pittsville, Massachusetts. Birds fell out of the air en masse and en flammes, air conditioners-- blasting from the windows of every home-- threatened to shut down the electrical grid, and the temperature was such that a curious soul could fry an egg on a sidewalk. The wisdom of those who might consume such an egg, however, would be suspect. Some might say that this sort of person would have to be a bit cracked.
Lennivolchuck Falls
The sun was high overhead, hot and bright as I’d ever seen. It seemed to hang only inches above me; I could feel my shoulders burning. From time to time, the wind would pick up and push aside the heat for a while, though it would disappear as soon as I dared to grow the least bit comfortable. Well, relatively comfortable—no matter how much I wished otherwise, I was still alone, outdoors, dehydrated, and lost in the least popular nature reserve in the United States of America.
Divinity Schmivinity
It was a day like any other on the outskirts of the city of Ur. Scorpions skittered from rock to bare bone; the occasional crocodile snacked on the occasional careless wanderer, and the sun hovered mere inches above the scorching, lifeless earth and sand. The air smelled of new dust mixed with the delicate, distinct odor of rotting flesh. Many of the city’s inhabitants might call this a good day for gardening, or perhaps for salting a particularly appetizing animal carcass. Life in Ur itself, however, was not its usual self. At the moment, the irrigation systems sat untended, the city gates were shut and abandoned, and the city’s oxen trudged round and around in circular paths, unsure of where to travel next. Outside outside of a small, aged-mud hut, a huge crowd had gathered—something were unheard of amongst Urers. Why gather and gawk while there is work to be done?
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