It’s the future. But nearly a century ago, the world seemed poised on the brink of disaster. Environmental blights competed with economic catastrophes and hostile regimes for the worst headlines of the day. A special senate convened the Academy to take control before it was too late. It was called FAIR. But it wasn’t. Suffering in the Academy’s iron grip for decades, the world drew what seemed sure to be its final, ragged breaths. Then a miracle happened: a blow from the heavens struck the Academy straight through the heart in the capital of Aerome. Their steel behemoths fell from the skies. The Rust, a plague that raged through technology and biology with equal fury, was soon cured, and a new invention ushered in an era of restoration and hope. Slowly but surely, people forgot their old fears. They even forgot the woman who had brought them so near to ultimate destruction, the leader of the FAIR Academy: the Prophet of Doom. That was then. Michael and Madeleine have grown up in a world run by the silent, clean, affordable technology called glide. To them the tyranny of the Academy is nothing more than a history lesson. But when they stumble upon a ramshackle mansion on a deserted beach, they find that the perils of the past have followed them into the present. As they discover the truth about what happened at Aerome, they unleash a woman long held captive, a woman who, like a sleeping dragon, should never have been awakened. Now the ashes of war are being rekindled. Michael and Maddy must prevent the Prophet from finishing the work she began so long ago. But they will not be alone. There is still one man in Seaville who remembers those times. Glide is his legacy. Memory is his responsibility. And the Prophet is his destiny. Click to view Glide’s website…Glide the Book If you like what you read or simply want to comment, please contact us at email@example.com
“Hey Phil, I heard you’re thinking about putting in a pond back here. Maybe turning those caves over there into a waterfall,” Derek says. He lights a cigarette and points with its glowing tip.
We’re sitting in my backyard with Bev and Marley Ann, sipping cocktails and listening to crickets and cicadas outperform Jerry Garcia, enjoying one of those impromptu happy hours that makes summer summer.
“Where’d you hear that?” I ask, glancing at Bev who evades me by following Derek’s gesture toward the rock wall known to us as The Caves.
I say known to us meaning known also to the flourishing tribe of Tamias inhabiting the wall. Of course, the chipmunks have their own phonemes for home sweet home that sound something like a long trill and a cluck, not to be confused with the rapid trill and cluck they line up to chant each morning, dutifully facing east, from the crack of dawn until the sun has risen and I’m wide awake…
Click to read on… Backyard Dwelling If you like what you read or simply want to comment, please contact us at firstname.lastname@example.org
From Outside the Box, Poems by Bill Gourgey Click to read…To Write If you like what you read or simply want to comment, please contact us at email@example.com
Uruk, Sumer 4,320 years before the present Deep within the Palace of Masks, in a torch lit chamber beside a crescent pool, the priestess collapsed to her limestone floor and wept. Ashamed but unable to contain her grief any longer she clutched her ankles, drew her knees close, and gnawed at their skin to muffle her outburst. She wore only a loose calico robe, unclasped and gathered in piles by her sides. Her breasts shook and her bare legs quivered. Plangent echoes disrupted the ritual tranquility of the priestess’ stony sanctuary. The spring fed pool surrounded a low altar and statue of the temple’s bearded deity, Dumuzi. Simple clay columns, adorned with painted cones, stood sentry on either side. Two large urns lined the pool’s edge. In front of the urns lay four ash-gray seeds, dried fruit kernels as large as fresh dates and protected by hard, wrinkled shells with naturally velvet skins. Beside the priestess’ robe lay three clay tablets, still moist and nearly complete, bearing the secret long kept by her lineage… Click to read on…Akkadian Curse If you like what you read or simply want to comment, please contact us at firstname.lastname@example.org
Poems by Bill Gourgey Click to read… Enriched If you like what you read or simply want to comment, please contact us at email@example.com
Poems by Bill Gourgey Click to read… Phone Cell If you like what you read or simply want to comment, please contact us at firstname.lastname@example.org
Poems by Bill Gourgey Click to read… Tattoo If you like what you read or simply want to comment, please contact us at email@example.com
Poems by Bill Gourgey Click to read… to be If you like what you read or simply want to comment, please contact us at firstname.lastname@example.org