It is possible for cruel things to be apologized for.

The Flower Story
By Sabrina G. Langton

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A Grumpy Old Man’s Tale 41 Bearthwaite Politics, Law, Lore and Reality

One of the pupils at Whiteport Academy was Fergus McCann. To others fourteen year old Fergus was the ultimate alpha male. A big strong and physically unstoppable boy who was the star of all the physical sport games he played for his school. It was a surprise to most when they discovered he was more interested in the creative stories he wrote for his English teacher than he was in his endeavours on the fields of sport. The boys thought he was a bit odd because he admitted to enjoying reading, and even writing, poetry, drawing and painting, but none made anything of it because Fergus was not someone whose ire they wished to court. Without doubt Fergus was a masculine male, and he had never considered being, nor had he ever wanted to be anything else. But his day dreams would have been considered by most of his peers to be in a word, pink, if that is any other than himself had been aware of them. He had absolutely no desire to be in any way feminine and like other typical males of his age from time to time he had sexual fantasies concerning his friend’s mothers and sisters, but naytheless he had a very different view as to what constituted masculinity from that of the males of his acquaintanceship and especially his father, Davy, who he did not get on with. His father would have liked him better if he’d been a male chauvinist bully, and better still if he’d been a chauvinist thug like himself, but his mother, Eunice, was delighted that Fergus was naturally polite, helpful and considerate, especially to girls, but his father unremittingly reviled him for being a sissy. The only reason it had not come to blows between them was that his father was like a lot of bullies a coward and was deep down afraid of Fergus who had for a number of years been bigger and stronger than his father.

The envelope was hand-addressed in my dad’s handwriting, which got my hopes up even though he deadnamed me, but inside there was no handwritten or even printed letter.

A group of friends streams their gaming on Wednesday nights. But not all the action is on the dining room table.

Where to start? There are so many places…

I could start with the weather, which was a gorgeous spring day. I could start with the restless feeling that overcame me as I woke on that gorgeous spring day; the kind of day you throw caution to the winds and do whatever you really want to do instead of what's sensible.. Maybe I should start at the HEB, but if you aren't a denizen of the Great State Of Texas you won't have the faintest idea what an HEB is.

See how hard it is to find a starting place?

Is the tape running now? Are you sure? OK. I’ll start again.

Haida wonders what do to next

Author: Sorry about the delay, had some computer problems.

“Are you ready for your detention?” Naomi asked, trying not to speak so loudly it would attract Coach Angel Slayers attention, but still be heard over the sound of wood and metal hitting each other.

“Jiang, what has you so excited? It’s really urgent?”

“Just watch the video, all I ask, Ranveer.”

“Ok, somebody on the Great Wall of China, walking funny, big deal?”

“Our recognition engine gait-matches this video from Badaling to what you gave us from Roosevelt Island.”

“Oh! They came to China too?”

“Probably when they checked out our ‘uranium.’ But that’s not what I wanted to show you. Their illusion only covered visible light; look at the terahertz and infrared images! You see their real shape!”

“Household spirit, manifest before me,” said the man in the workroom. The language he spoke was new to me, but apparently someone had installed a new language module without my knowledge; I understood him perfectly.