They said she rode into town on a pale horse and didn’t stop until she came to the place where he stood. No one knew who fired first or why.
He grew weary of the constant wars, the killing, the screams of the dying filling his ears. He finally had to delete his Warcraft account.
Hot damn! A mail-order bride! Harris placed his order. She arrived a fortnight later, but it didn’t work out. They’d forgotten air-holes.
The more I kill, more of them flock to me, seek me out. I’m destroyer of their being and bearer of their blood stains. Bloody mosquitoes.
We have ways of making you talk, said Steinbeck. And in front of Grey, upon a small, raised stage, seven milkmen began slowly to disrobe.
Turning out lights to see the stars through the window, she said to herself, “I love winter’s darkness.” “Me too,” he said from the shadows.