GREENING OF BELFAST_The Liberator_Next Paycheck_Traveling man
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GREENING OF BELFAST
2030. That was the year my life took a really nasty turn. But I might be getting a wee bit ahead of myself here. Everywhere you looked you saw plain ugly bad afoot. What do I mean? Well, for starters, a serious drought was spreading like wildfire. It was rife in places you might not imagine folks would find it.About roughly six months ago, awww.onedoor.ccn eco-terror group founded by six former card-carrying IRA carried out a bio-weapons attack on the city of Belfast. Whatever green remained had turned to unpleasant shades of brown. Some parts of the city had lost all semblance of vegetation. It was pretty ...
The Liberator
The Liberator“What are the photos for?”Dazed and confused, Professor Sandra Johnson stared at the camera in Timmy's hand. His expression was tender."You're waking up. Don't be afraid, Miss Johnson. I used a mild dose in the injection. It’s wearing off already."He knotted her limp frame to a kitchen chair and stood back. "Timmy? What's going on?" Her speech was slurry, but her mind began to clear."I hate to keep you waiting, but I can't release you until after dark,” Timmy said, snapping several photos of her. “There's only one neighbor way out here, Mrs. Ellsworth. She wouldn't like it if she ...
Next Paycheck
{content warning: sexual themes, language, mild gore}The lounge is warm, air thick with liquor and sweat. Dim light illuminates the lingering customers, laughing and conversing pleasantly. It is around 5am and we are about to close in a couple of hours. With no other clients booked for the rest of the night, I begin gathering my things. Dried blood stains my white button down shirt and perfectly matches my maroon tie. It happened much earlier in the night, but management suggests we don’t change unless our next guests ask us to. I untuck my shirt and lift it to see thin cuts along my abdomen, ...
Traveling man
Traveling Man 1989The man is dog tired and looking haggard having driven for over six hours. His tanned angular face is showing signs of fatigue. The whites of his dark brown eyes are turning a shade of red, and his short cropped brown hair is mussy. He is a touring businessman on his way home from Bishop, driving south on I-395 through the Mojave Desert. The hypnotic hum of the tires against the asphalt, and the steady rhythmic flashing of the broken white center lines, are hypnotic and taking a toll on him. He yawns, ...