CatadioptricI.In all the complicationsOf any crime scene on TVI guess it's unexpectedTo find simplicityAnywhere at all.II.As rain rolls down the windowsAnd cats are let insideI'm reminded of the days beforeWhen, waiting at the bedsideBooks did not stack up.III.Perhaps because I lack the timeMost inspiration I obtainMerely in the presence ofBooks, less for the inner stainBut for companyIV.To find an animal and callIt by a name, without respectOf a title, as demanded By any man, from any sectIs just being rudeV.Across the line upon the groundTo walk across, to feel that splitOf walking between two world
Canyon Selia studied intently through the crosshairs. A little to the left, a little to the left... A clear shot. She felt good as she pulled the trigger, downing an enemy below, between the canyon walls. After all, they would want to do the same thing to her; Do unto others and all that. They had been foolish to come into Arlan territory... her territory. She lowered her weapon for a moment to watch the caravan scatter. There was little point to taking the rest out from above. More likely than not she would miss, and the ground team would be rounding them up any moment. Instead, she tried to picture what was waiting in the wagons, the
Handwriting His hand eclipsed her dainty fingers, guiding them in looping curves from one edge to the other. “Two consonants, a vowel,” he counted softly in her ear. “Change direction here.” A base line of swooping black caressed the page, ending finally with a tapered tail. “Good,” he grinned verbally. His hand lifted hers back to the start, this time forming vines to hang and curl off of the valleyed line. Underneath his, her muscles twitched, unfamiliar with his organic swirls. Suddenly, her hand was bare, exposed and abandoned, clutching the ink-trailing instrument so lightly. The line changed abru
Future Cayenne Kyrienne studied the keyboard through her eyelashes, artificially lengthened into gracefully curving fingertips spreading from bright, color-corrected eyes. Her fingers rested delicately on the heat-keys, waiting to dance across, but she was dismayed by the loss of the satisfying click of an outmoded Qwerty. Though she was alone, she complained aloud, “Don’t they have anything older?” She longed for her own office back Underside, where the computers did not sense her presence, and even if they could, would be too far ahead of the other systems to be of any use. When she had been younger, she would have killed to be on th
Sta.sh
