The sound of footsteps distracted her, very heavy sounding footsteps and Nyssa turned her gaze toward the front of the cave to see the dragon coming right toward them. It was the single biggest creature that she had ever seen, or even imagined, and could easily swallow her whole. How did those people not notice it? She needed to get them out of the cave. Aris preserve me, she prayed silently to the Goddess of life and light as she unsheathed her sword and dropped the sheath as she leaped out of the crevice, placing herself between them and the massive creature. "Go!" she shouted at them. "Run! I'll keep it busy!”

In an isolated laboratory, a biologist creates new animals and new species. But to the disappointment of the authorities and the possible approval of wordplay enthusiasts, something goes slightly wrong...

Rejuvenation

A story in the MORFS universe

The honky-tonk roadhouse was rocking when she rolled up on the vintage hog. She walked the motorcycle back towards the stairway that led down from the front door and porch. Taking the mirrored aviator shade off, she surveyed the area for people standing around and spotted only two. They were on either side of the entrance. Both were over six two and looked like they had played linemen on the local community college football team.

She wasn’t six stone wringing wet through, but she’d run a taxi office day and night in a city centre for ten years, starting the day she left school, and could handle herself.

“So how come you’re here starring at the weekly bullshit session?”

“Belinda went out to get her hair done this afternoon. She got to yacking with another lassie in the hairdresser’s, and seeing as they were both going shopping at Tesco after they had coffee together. This lassie Gwen mentioned her old man was going out to the pub tonight. She said it was the men’s story telling night and invited her round for a girls night in with some friends and a bottle of wine or two. Now I ask you, how many retired professional liars do you know called Sasha? She found out which pub and here I am. I only live twelve miles a way. Christ, man, it’s good to see you. I’d wondered if you were dead.”

“Nah. Mark Twain had the right of it when he said, ‘The report of my death was an exaggeration.’

I volunteered to make sure we always have a country to die for.

I watched the flies explode as they set it off by landing on it

I can settle for a draw. For a bloke, I’m not overly competitive.
&
Elle with her knickers down screaming ‘It’s a bloody snake.’

To win at anything you have to know the rules and out play the opposition using the same rules. Though cheating from time to time can pay dividends. Now, there’re little ones needing bedtime stories. Off you go. I’ll bring you a cocoa.

The carrion crew aren’t the nicest of folk. They’re all vultures from the wrong side of the tracks and I’m not much better. I’m a bit brighter and can actually read, and I do, but that’s about the limit of our differences.

Your mum is the archetypal Yiddishe Momme, poor, the only survivor of her family from the holocaust, genuinely caring and loving, incapable of guile, immensely respected by all who know her, Jew and gentile alike. She’s the epitome of an eastern European Jewess. She could have have come straight out of Fiddler on the Roof. When my mum and dad are at outs he accuses her of only marrying him because the obliteration of his family at Auschwitz makes her feel respectable, and he provokes her by saying she would eat a bacon sandwich if a Rabbi told her it were kosher.

Most of my mates still can’t believe that I’d managed to pull a drop dead gorgeous, university educated girl from an upper middle class family who spoke with a veritable bag full of plums in her oh so entirely kissable mouth and she actually married me. I get on with her family though her parents don’t totally understand the way their daughter chooses to live, permanently pregnant and surrounded by kids, even if she is living in more affluence than they are. Hey don’t look at me. I just do what I’m told and earn the money.

The young maiden sat between her parents as they traveled to a foreign place. She was kept in the dark of their destination. It was only the three of them, as the young lord of her dream has become a disparaging memory. He was to stand beside her…to defend her against the unjust; to fight for her honor and to stay united against the dark foe. Alas, the dark foes were their own families and he bowed in defeat to his father than to renounce his name.

The only person who made a socially acceptable living out of posing pre-pubescent girls and horses in the same tableaux was Norman Thelwell.

Agnes, an attractive woman who appeared to be about thirty, had dressed carefully but conservatively for her interview. The job was working in a children’s day care centre managed by a twenty-eight year old woman who introduced herself as Sharon. She didn’t provide a surname, but Agnes already knew who she was and a lot about Sharon because she’d done her homework for the job. Agnes considered it incongruous that the manageress of a large nursery looked ill kempt and like she could do with a good meal.

Margaret Towers, personal aid to and long time friend of the President was as always shewn in to his office without him being warned she was coming. The President's bodyguards didn’t like it, but it was on his orders, and the only person who’d made her wait had been fired on the spot.

I’ve read that friends are ten a penny and come and go, but the hate a good enemy provides can last a lifetime and keep you warmer than a good fire on cold winter nights.

Despite Gilbert’s father undressing me with his eyes all the time, he keeps his hands to himself and I get on with him well enough. I certainly don’t object to his taste for long necked and skinny legged, thin chested females.

Hannah said “It is for the baby.”

Every now and again memories from the distant past intrude on the present, especially those with no closure.
It happens to us all and leaves an incomplete hollow feeling of helplessness and inadequacy.

The place marked ‘Windmill field’ on the deeds to my holding is a special place to me. Being there conjures visions of what the area was like before Henry VIII’s dissolution of the nearby Abbeytown abbey going on for four hundred years ago. My property was the abbey’s mill.

Any early attempt at first person writing concerning an old man’s reflections on recent life with a group of his friends and some fascinated tourists all drinking in an old fashioned village pub one summer afternoon. I suspect this particular obviously experienced raconteur hadn’t had to pay for a drink in years.

The tastes and smells of childhood last a lifetime.

What we would call hate crimes are punishable by death and just about the entire LGBT community has gone over to his folk. The frightening thing is they have a much higher proportion of educated and skilled folk than the public at large and have become loyal to his cause simply because the Celts offered them security and safety. God help us, but some of our senior civil servants regard the LGBT leaving as a good thing because, and I quote, ‘We won’t have to deal with them.’