march. vol. 001 issue 02

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coming soon.
including: news, reviews, word jumbles, plagerism, etc.;








Beeker and his brother Dorian were best friends. They were eight months apart. Dorian was born premature; he came a full two and a half months before his expected birthday. They had a third brother, but he lived with their father, and they hated him deeply. They assumed it was Enn, this despised third son, who was responsible for their mother's and father's divorce.
When Beeker and Dorian were six years old, Dorian, in an attempt to impress his younger, impressionable brother, wrote a very long story about the first years of marriage of a young couple who very much reminded one of his own parents. The first draft was nearly one hundred and thirty pages long. It was expanded to it final length of one hundred and sixty-six pages. Dorian first showed his epic to his mother. He'd found her sitting at the kitchen counter, her hands around a small juice glass, staring out an open window. She didn't notice her son until, on his third attempt at calling at her, he got her attention. He handed the thick manuscript, packaged neatly in a faded red binder, to his mother as if he were a graduate student presenting his professor his disertation. His mother took the binder and said thank you to her son. She scanned through it carelessly and told her son that it was very good, sweetie.

February

I hate this blogger service.
I can't even figure out how to make the font a different size. I probably have to know "html"
language, just to do it, i bet. forget that.
Here's a story about Giant Machines:

A Story About You.

The sky rained flakes of dark gray ashe for two hours after the explosion. And no one saw it coming. So, naturally, hundreds were killed instantly. Incidentally, the less obvious but far more lethal effect was that much of the lake which the townspeople relied on was very near the exploded factory and, because most of the town had not been informed as to the goings-on within the great factory, they continued to drink the water from the lake. Years later this would kill just about ninety-five percent of the surrounding population.
At the time of the explosion, Margot Lee oversaw all production within the factory. In fact, she had always run the factory, had concieved of its creation, and for a time, even been given the task of drawing the plans for its construction. She loved the factory. When building inspectors had been ordered in after the untimely death of one of Dr. Lee's lower level employees, she felt personally violated.