Photoshoot for bikinis in the middle of winter in a snow covered backdrop was usually my worst dread. Today, however, I was glad because word reached us that our studio blew up after a group of teenage boys decided to experiment with chemicals using a translated foreign magazine. Disaster!
That night huddled in the nearby bar, drinking mulled cider we all said thankful prayers for our good fortune. Jessica, normally the drama queen, shivered and hugged Milly the girl she most hated in the world, or so she had always thought. Today we all grew up.
Starving to be slim...
Travel light, but take everything with you. That motto had served Herschel well all these years and he wasn't about to abandon it now.
He stepped over the fresh corpse. Putting down the gun, its barrel still hot and smoking, he went into the bathroom for his toothbrush, grabbed the bills from his roommate's rapidly cooling hands, and walked out the door.
WHAP!! The sniper rifle cracked harshly then a second later an echoing crack sounded back across the valley. A few hundred feet below a crawler's head exploded.
Daniel smoothly reloaded and set his eye back to the scope. "Clear for now. They'll be confused by the sound, but look lively. Your boy's on the High Street heading into trouble."
Off to the edge of his vision, a runner… Runner Five? Runner Eight? broke cover, trailed by Peter. They reached Luke just as he turned the corner where a lone Zom was shambling by the corner shop.
***
I see Mummy....
I jumped. I left the rope ladder up in the treehouse. I'm scared. Leaving it will stop me from not going to Mummy. I'm not crying. I am a big boy. I will go to Mummy, even if she is still mad, and walking like Daddy.
Maybe she will hit me like Daddy and I will tell people I fell downstairs and tomorrow she will buy me candy and Daddy will come home.
She is near Mr. Grant's shop. Most of the other angry people have given up looking for me, or where looking in other places, or have fallen...
He ran into the room, his heart pounding, and his clothes soaking wet. One of the Abel Security Volunteers, Daniel, brought up the rear.
"Peter has been trying to leave the compound again, Major."
"It's Luke. My neighb… my… friend. He's still alive." the boy interrupted. "A runner on rofflenet posted evidence of looting in Mr. Grant's, a shop near where we used to live."
The major pulled out a map. After a brief inspection Peter pointed to one of the orange 'No Go' areas. The Major considered the chart doubtfully.
"There are two or three old supermarkets in the...
Giving in wasn't an option, but there was little else she could do.
"Ok, ok," she told the young galant with the sharp blade, "take whatever you want. Just don't hurt me."
The rascal had a look in his eye so sharp it could cut glass. "What I want, my lady," he said, drawing the space out between words to give them import, "is you."
The young woman's eyes widened, her ruby lips opened, but words failed her.
Reaching down, he made himself ready for his reward; then laid his hands upon-
her chastity belt.
Freed of the constraints of...
The dangers of air surfing had yet to be explored. Jenna had never been shy when it came to taking risks, yet now she found herself in the embarrassing position, almost literally, of talking out her ass.
"Can you help me down, please?"
"What happened to 'I'll be a living legend?'" quipped her boyfriend, Bob. "I mean, I've got to say I'm enjoying the view."
Dangling, upside down, as the tide came in, did little to improve Jenna's temper. "Just pull me down; will you?"
"Just as soon as I finish filming. My followers on YouTube are gonna LOVE this!"...
One scoop chocolate, one scoop strawberry.
One scoop soil, one scoop blood.
One scoop of fear, one scoop of daring.
One scoop of regret, one scoop of happiness.
One scoop flesh, one scoop breath.
One scoop breath...
One scoop breath...
One scoop breath...
For more than one scoop blood
Whoever said a picture was worth a thousand words had never met Frank.
The man had never met a camera he didn't like, a paintbrush he couldn't weild with the skill of an accomplished demolition man. He didn't just fail to capture his subjects, he mutilated them, butchered their faces on canvas or in gelatin print to the point that the destruction itself was an art form.
Shadows cast a sinister light on the angelic face of his little girl. Brush strokes created abhorrent textures in the golden halo of his wife's hair.
Artists were said to put themselves into...
The desert rose would always grow.
It knew nothing of circumstances beyond its control. Nothing of bodies drying in the sun, baked by heat on the hot sand. All that mattered was the sun and the wind and just enough moisture to survive.
The girl turned, picked the pink blossom, and tucked it into the soldier's kaki colored uniform. The color clashed happily with the washed out surroundings, almost as much as the smile with which he repaid her small kindness.