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Stone Flight

"Lady, I got two months to live," I explain. My legs trembling beneath me like some stoner just caught his buzz and can't stand on his own two feet. "That may be, but I can't let you on there with this," she argues. Her voice firm, and her eyes confirm she is unconvinced. She whispers into the mouthpiece of her walkie-talkie something garbled that I can't make out; my hearing obscured by the drugs taking their toll on my body. I lost my sense of smell earlier this year. Suddenly food lost its flavor; the doctors couldn't figure out what was wrong until an assistant asked if maybe I just lost my sense of smell, then suddenly it became clear that it wasn't anything serious. "Get me your supervisor," I demand. She squares off her footing and places her fists on either hip, standing firmly as if waiting for backup. Sure enough, not a moment later two other men show up, armed and just as serious. "Sir, he'll tell you the same th...
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Witch Apprentice

Witch Apprentice "I expect you to take care of that," my lord orders of me. His large hands busy lighting his last bogie. He walks across the front of the bar, scanning the floorboards in front of his feet with a clarity and mental emptiness I hunger for. "If she cannot be turned my master, she will fall victim to my blade like the others before her," I answer obediently. He nods once then turns his gaze back towards the floor as if unsure of the path before me. I turn away, my back to my master, and sit on the couch closest to the far end of the bar. His doubts of my abilities leaves me with doubts of my own. But I was sure of my purpose when I joined the ranks. My allegiance to the dark market bar has been beyond reproach in my eyes since I was recruited, but not in the eyes of the other soldiers who have served longer and remain in lower rank in the eyes of the goblin king. He values my opinion and often seeks it out, but not this time. This time, he has made ...
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Bar at the Edge

Papoose Fiction: Edge of the Universe At the edge of the universe there lies a bar with no bartender and a barstool holding the only patron. The stool is wood, three legs triangulating down where the sheetrock hammered together into the shape of a bar is at its straightest, allowing for one person to lean comfortably forward for the remainder. Times were hard on Vegas Argo, he had to steal what he couldn't borrow. Off to war or more alarming is the sorrow that follows tomorrow's horrors as arrows burrow passed the marrow but lessened in pain because Sir Argo's thoughts tread in the shallow. Nobody's Fault But it's not his fault; it's what he was taught when his teachers were forced to slave all day just for a few scraps of bread and enough change left over to keep the perpetual cycle as vicious as possible but not enough for the herd to grow suspicious something auspicious has turned them towards a meal quite delicious but hardly nutritious; three times a...
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