Stewart shot up.
Jarred, he desperately looked for what took him seconds into consciousness to realize was a crying baby.
Then seconds more to realize where it was. Click to continue »
Warm basso rumbles. It was her baby and it hurt her that such a deep demonic sound could come from such a little girl’s tummy. Her daughter bravely held her pinky as the two stood in line outside the Lenox Avenue Soup Kitchen. They silently stared forward, waiting their turn.
There wasn’t anything to do but not to make eye contact with anyone else. Such was the dark energy in the air of that cold October night. Everyone looked out-of-sorts as they stood bundled up against the wind fighting the harsh realities of Mother Nature. Everyone battled a new feeling of being disheveled and lost, everyone except maybe the homeless guy people called “The Troll”. He always looked disheveled and lost. Click to continue »
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“Oh my God! She’ll love it!”
Women were always so strange.
Janie would ask for trips across the globe, longingly thumb through stacks of “Architectural Digest” then take them on house hunting expeditions, touring through mansions lavish enough to scare “The Donald”, and even, gulp, dream incessantly of the “B” word.
So how could this make her so happy?
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There was darkness then bright, bright light.
Stewart flipped his hands to protect his eyes from the illumination that streamed in from above.
He strained forward but a thick tight belt across his shoulder and one equally imposing across his waist kept him firmly locked into place. Click to continue »
[podcast]http://www.paintthetruth.net/allwebsites/deathwave/wp-content/plugins/podcasting/player/deathwavechaptera003.mp3[/podcast]
They were doing it like old times. Their fight from earlier that day dissolved into a distant memory, like a bad dream. And, Stewart was glad.
Slowly, in and out, their bodies heaved and grinded lubricated by dripping sweat and licking tongues. Click to continue »
[podcast]http://www.paintthetruth.net/allwebsites/deathwave/wp-content/plugins/podcasting/player/deathwavechapterb002.mp3[/podcast]
Looking back, the old days always seemed safer.
Disturbances were always resolved and the omnipresent red tide of death or despair or destruction always receded into a greater and happier time of prosperity. And in those olden days the people would always forget so easily the last flurry of tough times and continue about in their fancy fun free lives.
In those olden days tough times could even seem quaint and romantic.
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“Welcome to our world,” she said as she guided him through the mammoth industrial complex of brushed aluminum and cold slate tile. “We keep you safe. That’s what we do.”
They walked up the quad to one of the many ultra modern buildings, all sleek with post-modern austerity. All gigantic and woven with steel between glass. He tried to get the door for her with an awkward tug, but she stopped him with a quick draw of her badge.
“We’ll get you yours at the end of orientation. Until then,” she continued, “please keep your name tag on.” Click to continue »
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