Ben Sorenson awoke wondering what the hell this dream was about, but was quickly distracted by the need to urinate. He lurched out of bed, stumbling, still half-drunk to the toilet. Readying himself to aim, he heard a voice call out:
The Scrape nightclub was a slice of savagery, hidden in the western desert of New Pangea, in the smoldering town of Slash Valley. The valley got its name from prowling Utahraptors which The Scrape had managed—not to tame—but to monetize.
Coming around the edge of a collapsed roof, I nearly run into a writhing mass of coloured clouds, bits of tech twinkling in their gaseous innards as they swirl and pass through each other, with hypnotic grace. It’s impossible to say precisely where one begins and the other ends, as the colours meld and form gradients at the edges; yet each cloud is clearly a separate entity.
[Total: 2 Average: 5/5] Written by Russell James Being free felt wonderful. And the death certificate in his hands represented Jared’s freedom. He’d demanded a certified copy be delivered as soon as one was ready. His hands trembled with joy as his eyes traced each letter of the name of his dead wife, Denise.… Continue reading Ashes and Paint