Size Matters_Shark Bait_The Duelling Houses of Warwick and Stone_Chiming In
Catalog Guide:
Size Matters
Byron Strueth had lost almost sixty kilograms in a twelve-month stretch. It was a marvellous achievement. In less than a year, Byron had completely transformed himself. Through a strict regime of exercise, meditation and healthy choice eating, he had shed the weight, dropping from a hefty 130kgs down to a lithe 72kgs. A brave new world lay before Byron, but someone had forgotten to tell the previous incarnation of Byron; the fat one. His new body, with its narrower dimensions, perplexed and confounded Byron. He was ill at ease in it and captained it with an inept but slimmer hand. Byron was a...
Shark Bait
I reached down to grab the man’s hand to pull him out of the boat wreckage. Shark fins occasionally sliced through water ripples just beyond where the man had been floating on wooden debris.I pulled him into my boat. His skin was blistered and oozing. He’d been languishing in the sun without cover for quite some time, I guessed.“Those sharks near the surface usually don’t attack,” I assured him. “Now the ones circling below you, well, those are ambush predators, and they sure looked like they were getting bolder, judging from your toes.”Two of the man’s toes were nicked. “Hardly life threateni...
The Duelling Houses of Warwick and Stone
“Mother, Mrs. Warwick, I think you both know why we’re all here.”Esmerelda Stone arched her eyebrows. They were very dark and very pointy, and when she arched them, most people became very wary of what might be brewing behind them.Not her mother, though. “You ungrateful upstart! After everything I’ve taught you, everything I’ve done for you, this is how you repay me?”Esmerelda set her teacup in the china saucer and folded her hands in her lap. “You have taught me so much, Mother, but one thing you’ve never been able to teach me is to hate the Warwick family. Despite everything, I have fallen d...
Chiming In
Whowww.onedoor.cc buys wind chimes like that? I’ll tell you who. A white trash boomer. My neighbour has crammed her balcony full of pseudo-spiritual tat from Poundland. Buddha statues and lotus blossom fountains are bad enough, but the chimes—oh, the chimes. They sound about as soothing as the metallic groan the hull of the titanic made as it cleaved in two. Why do I give a hoot about what my neighbour decorates their balcony with? Well, it has to do with being a light sleeper and living on the seventh floor of a tower block in windy Britain. The incessant rattle of those butterfly chimes consistently peels...