I think of myself... as a troubadour, a village storyteller, the guy in the shadows of the campfire. Louis L'Amour

Lost in space, it seems, for a million years
To my own pleasures, to my very cold frights
Despite galaxies tasted, I still feel near
To Alpha Centauri, and your blue world's sight
But hide me away, beneath milky waves
For my shame could span a universe twice
In Sirius' twilight, I'll spend my days
Away from my dearest darling.

I was twenty years old, a part time bar maid, still living at home and single. My friends and family were horrified at my decision to backpack a central African country alone, for six weeks, living in a little blue tent, and travel the entire country on an unrealistic budget of five hundred pounds. None of them told me not to go because they knew I wasn’t the kind of girl to let an idea like that slip away. Plus, I had already been to Kenya a year prior, with a group of volunteers. A government funded scene paid for us all to go volunteer there for ten weeks. It was a massive achievement being selected for that programme, and completing it. My friends and family understood my desire to return to Africa, and they were proud of the person I was becoming.

This happened when I was a young lad back in 1995, My parents have gone out for dinner and my little brother Jacob was asleep and i was watching some cartoons in the living room it was around 11 o'clock when I heard some strange rustling sounds from outside I just thought it was my dog or the wind and I didn't think anything of it and continued watching cartoons, I became bored and since there was nothing else to watch on TV I decided to turn off the TV and went to go check on Jacob and then go to my room and get some rest. I had a very strange dream that I was being murdered by someone or something with a butcher knife the dream ended with me falling onto the ground i then quickly sat up on my bed drenched in sweat,

Sitting on the front porch
listening to the wind
Can't help but retreat
to way back when
memories preserved in my mind
long forgotten pieces
Tucked away to find
There is a place in my heart
that lives way back when
A longing to return
To see my friend

Sturgis was a lot better back in the eighties. Riding to Sturgis on your Harley was a pilgrimage and hadn't turned into a fad just yet whereas, in the nineties, everybody and their mother went out and bought a Harley and then decided to pretend they were bikers, trailering their overpriced bikes to Sturgis and then riding five miles outside of town from the campgrounds into town.
I rode my FLH across the states back in the eighties, and believe me, no restaurateur ever opened their doors for me, in fact, because of my leathers and long hair most restaurants, motels and bars slammed their doors closed in my face and threatened to call the cops if I didn’t leave. Back then it was pretty tough being a hungry, cold and tired bah-bah ‘biker’.

"Please don't move away Miss Peters" is what I heard throughout my last day at New Hope Elementary School. I felt terrible for moving away from my students but I knew it was time to move on to bigger and better things.

I have been a first grade teacher for ten years living in a small town in Arizona, I love my little cottage and the people in town but I've always dreamed of living in one of biggest cities in the US; Los Angeles, California. I was starting to get anxious because I was just realizing how close tomorrow was. I was trying to pack up my desk at the school so I could have the afternoon to pack up the rest of my house. My students were a little upset with me since I was leaving rather suddenly, I didn't know how to explain to first graders that I had to get out of this small town.

Pink mist. Is that what we're waiting for? The screams have to be silent to reach our ears. The shot, an explosion instead...the gunman, a bomber instead. Bombs...Americans love bombs.

He'll come into the school with a backpack just like the others. He'll have a history, a scowl in his eyes. But instead of a warning shot to get them into submission, instead of a slaughter, instead of a rampage, he'll be a ghost. He will simply set the time, walk out and watch the mist rise.

Hi my name is Lucille I'm 20, my friends call me Luci and by friends I mean my mom l, well I have friends but they're all in Tennessee. We just moved to, you know I don't even remember and I really don't care right now I just wish I could go back to Tennessee. So right now I kinda hate my parents. It's about a month ago that we moved to wherever here is so we're still unpacking, so we can't seem to find the boys' blankets l, so now they won't sleep, till they're so exhausted they drop, so mom doesn't sleep a wink.

Sooner or later, each of us will experience that dagger in the heart called grief. Dealing with grief is a challenge like no other. How can you pick up the pieces, heal the wounds, and move on without feeling like you're betraying the memory of your loved one? Everyone is doing it different but only writers are doing it the same. Writers...write.

Deep in interstellar space, there are special places called nexuses. At a nexus you can easily transit from one dimension to another, so as you can imagine, all the known nexuses are prime real estate.

Thanks to a gift from a billionaire who they helped out of a tough spot, the Mango Team has an office on one such nexus. The Mango Team had its origin back in the days of the Farley Crow disaster and the invasion of the earth by monsters. It was originally a military organization. Now it's a business.