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A Time With TailsAn advantage of living on one of the lesser-known islands is that during the off season, the beach is nearly deserted, especially at night.
Water slaps against the dock's wooden supports, spitting droplets of salt water into the night air. The surf rushes like breath in our ears while the foam-capped waves retreat from the beach, tiny shells and pebbles rolling in their wake.
It isn't cold, not really. It rarely gets truly cold here. But it's chilly, cool enough to raise goosebumps on our bare arms and make us shiver in the shade of the dock. We stay silent, though, not letting our teeth chatter, not whispering about our plans for the night.
All three of us are staring at the last house on the beach with any lights on. It's a kitchen light. I saw someone walking around inside. It won't be long now before they finally go to bed and that warm light winks out. Not long now.
We've tucked ourselves up under the old wooden dock, right a
Caity's World, Part 6The girls in the secretaries pool had had a great deal of sympathy for her, and several had offered money or said theyd put her in contact with somebody who would help, and while those were good offers, Christine, the only other Changed person among them, had offered her a free place to stay until she got this all sorted out, and that was an offer she couldnt refuse. Christine was a satyr, half a goat from the waist down, with short curly brown hair on her head and an innocent, almost cherubic smile. Christine lived in a three-bedroom apartment with her husband Rob, also a satyr, and the two of them were an amazing pair, almost twins, differing only by Robs curling horns and obviously bulkier physique. Theyd been among the first to change five years ago and soon after met at a self-help group. Theyd quickly become far more than just inseparable.
Which was all well and good, thought Caitlyn as she lay sprawl
Poetic PsychosisIn thirty seconds, the next shell would fall. Every night was the same, but every night Lorenzo experienced it as if it were the first time. His throat felt swollen; breathing was hard. He glanced around at the others; young men like him who had been shipped out in the name of honour and freedom. There was no honour in this, no freedom. Only death behind your eyelids, and a fear so gutting, that it carved out your innards and left you a hollow husk. Lorenzo tried to breathe, tried to assure himself that he was still whole, still made of flesh. They had lied when they told him he was ready.
Matteo ran towards him, arms out, rifle swinging uselessly at his side. He shouted for him to run, but Lorenzo remained motionless, unable to move as his friend’s warning was lost in the constant blare of gunfire. None of them were ready.
“The cycle is repeating. It is not safe.” The voice was soft and weak, yet it carried over the gunfire and battle cries without impediment.
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