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Showing posts from April, 2019

Legend Tripping

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  1. Most of the children of Carlin High School were engaged in the usual playground activities, girl gossiped rapidly sounding like a thousand busy typewriters; youthful first years laughed and chas ed each other around the yard, burning off energy; older kids from the rough end of town hid behi nd the toilets, smoking weed. Steven was sitting alone, perched on the fence like a hawk, watching all the normal mayhem when he spotted Simon Anderson take a nosedive onto the concrete. The boy just went white and dropped, and even though the other kids were making a godawful din, Steven definitely heard Simon’s skull crack like a heavy egg as it smashed onto the ground. The noise was a sickening, hollow sound that made his heart jump in his chest. He immediately jumped off the fence and rushed to see if the older boy was alright. In the seconds it took him to move to where Simon was, there was a large crowd around Simon, some girls were screaming, an older boy was shouting, “Get a tea

Hattie and Grandfather Clock

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From the moment she could think, Hattie Gardiner knew she was a special child. This was not because her mother and father were fabulously wealthy, in a town where most people were poor. Rather, Hattie knew she was special because everything was easy, too easy. A timid child, pale and dark eyed, Hattie seemed strange to other children and did not make friends easily which was in itself odd. Everything else she tried to do she picked up with an almost supernatural ability, whether it be learn a language or play the piano, or figure out compl ex mathematic al problems . Hattie was a special child, born with a gift and the knowledge that one day she would be very, very important indeed. The problem was that Hattie grew bored so easily. Three weeks of learning the flute had been enough to overtake her tutor's talents and so she'd decided she'd learned enough about that subject and became hungry for another interest to devour. One day she and her mother were in

Backwater

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Trying to find the right word to describe the feeling he had when driving down these dark lonely roads at night, Greg had settled on ‘unsettled’. He wasn’t happy with it. The word didn’t seem to convey the sheer complexity of emotional hues he experienced. There was a touch of dread, a shade of defiance, a hint of anticipation mixed in along with several others; a sense of the uncanny; a suggestion of being overwhelmed by the enormity of those hidden plains and invisible hills out beyond the windscreen, in the dark. These roads were not only eerie, but dangerous. Narrow, with sharp slopes looming over them and steep ones falling away into blackness below. Weaving through this treacherous hillside led to single lane road which cut through the forest. The headlight beams scraped the ancient, dry brick walls. Tinagulen Pass, a little scar, a convenient shortcut. While definitely short, it was also a risky proposition. Though the road itself was a straight mile through the woods

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