Custody on the West Bay Corral

Lula’s Full Moons 40 Saloon, nestled into the western-most corner Zeta-5’s Rest and Rehab Station, was half full of the usual hands, lounging in leathers and 10-gallon hats, or tipping back shots in titillating bustiers and full ruffled skirts. Or jeans and flip flops. Lula didn’t care, just so long as folks were respectful and they paid their bar bill.

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Countdown

Boxes lay along the curved perimeter of the silvery dock. A slender figure darted around them, stacking smaller boxes on medium, turning some toward the shoreline.  The healer and her intern had placed three large boxes on the further, forested side, long before the observers had arrived. The dock rocked, slapping the water; the beasts were restless.

Twelve boxes total, counting the one in her belly pocket.

The crowd quieted as dawn softened, red to apricot.

She raised her arms. “Z!” The intern unlatched the largest box and stepped back as a silky black panther padded toward the trees.

He turned his head once, flashed his canines in farewell and disappeared into the shadows.  Continue reading “Countdown”

The Watcher


buttJoseph leaned against the hardware store’s outside wall, impatiently tapping his fingers.  Its surface was cool in the shade of what promised to be another scorcher. He drew on his cigarette, then used the same hand to slide his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose. His fingers trembled and the ash dropped to the dirty sidewalk.
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