A Short, light Interlude

My name is Helen Arlin. I am the creator of the Spontaneous Body Swapping Syndrome. Truth be told, it was all one big accident that had a domino effect on the entire universe as we know it.

Johannes Malt Shop was a Benton mainstay, located on a few doors down from “Ginger Evens Bakery” and only a quarter mile from the towns only supermarket in town “Sunflower: Food store” it the main hang out for the tweens and teens all year round. And to honesty, really everybody stopped here to get a quick snack. There hamburgers, where to die for, and their milkshakes were the best around. Thick and creamy.

Part Nine

Vic woke slowly, which was odd. With her level of regeneration, even a powerful narcotic should have worn off quickly once her body began eliminating it. To her alarm, she discovered that she had been stripped and dressed in a paper examination gown. Even her ear bud was gone. She wasn't certain, but from the condition of her hair suspected she'd actually been washed.

"Someone was being thorough," she muttered, her voice hoarse.

Were to Start

Part 4

Raven wipes the sweat out of her eyes, as she tightens up the last ball joint. The heat inside the garage was causing her to sweat more than she normally did. The big floor fans Jordan put out in the garage to help cool it down, weren’t doing much.

She finishes the job and slowly lowers the car down. Once it was touching the floor. Raven makes the notes on the repair order and drives the car out to the parking lot to be picked up.

She sighs when she goes back into the building. The waiting area was nice and cold.

"We're facing religious fanatics," Raben explained as he addressed his massed forces upon his return. "They live by a strict caste system that binds their society like iron. They are utterly locked into their caste with no hope of escaping the limitations of their caste. It is so ingrained into their culture the idea of breaking the caste system is abhorrent. I spoke to slaves, offering them freedom, but every one refused. Several called out an alarm and I was chased. The leadership has even armed and are training the slaves to fight by their side. Their way of life is diametrically opposed to the culture of the Clan Corvo. We are in for one hell of a fight."

FPI -- Frilly Pantied Investigator / Chapter 3

Copyright 2019 by Heather Rose Brown

In this chapter, names are named, genders are reconsidered, and something ceramic tumbles to its doom.

The gymnasium was filled to the brim with people. Colorful streamers hung down from the ceiling, romantic music filled the air with a loud tempo. Toward the back, there stood at least two dozen men, all dressed in coat and ties. Each one refused to look each other in the eyes as they shifted their weight from one foot to the other. Some played with the cuffs of there suits, other kept playing with there watches. Others just stood there, their arms folded over there chest and their eyes firmly glued to the dance floor. No doubt they were passing around small brown bottles of bourbon around.

One Saturday Night at Magee’s
by Ellie Dauber

I’m afraid that I screwed up in attaching the .pdf file that was the bulk of Magee’s story #2. I have fixed it. So if you couldn’t read it before please try again. And comment. I did get 8 comments on what was posted, but they were all “Where’s the .pdf?” Still eight comments are eight comments, so here’s the third story. I’d like some comments on this one, also. Just because I only wrote three doesn’t mean that a fourth one might show up, given sufficient feedback.

This is the last of three stories about Magee’s, a neighborhood bar with a most unusual owner. Out of work – and bitter -- Vic Cantrell lets his wife. Betty, drag him into Magee’s for a drink. Only to find an evening far different than they ever expected.