I looked back over some of my early stories and found that they
were the work of different writer than the one I had become in
the years between writing them and re-discovering them.
|Yep. This roundtable has all of it. |
Well, except drugs. Don't do drugs, kids.
Drugs are bad. And stay in school.
Name your weapon of choice. We'll write them all.
"Nick stood, smiling like they were old friends. As soon as they were close enough, he snatched his beer bottle from the table and broke it across the nearest man’s face. As he cried out in both pain and surprise, Nick launched a kick to the second man’s groin that lifted him into the air. As he dropped to the marble floor, Nick snapped a punch into the first man’s broken nose that dropped him to the floor.
"Nick hurried across the courtyard and out the door. Once on the street, Storm pulled a white baseball cap out of his back pocket and pulled it onto his head. The sunglasses came off and went into his shirt pocket. His appearance was changed enough to throw off and description that the two men or Melendez could give of him."
|So does this interview.|
|Oh no! It can't be almost over!|
"Now pay attention, men. Here is Isla del Evil, thirty-seven miles southeast of the coast of Haiti. Seven square miles of minefielded hell, ever since Lord Sinistre came to power there seven years ago in the Flower Parade Coup..."
Slab checked his wristwatch. It was one of the old-fashioned clockwork kind, of course, without any energy source that the Delphotrons could detect with their worldwide scanner satellite grid. 8.57. "Almost time for the Slug-Lords' nightly holocaust," Slab thought.
It was almost five years since the old king had died. In that time Prince Alain had trained daily in the Swordmasters' Hall, alongside nobles from Dy Aquitaine, Sleecross, Ververet, and even Far Elysia. He'd learned much about the politics and personalities across the Grand Continent, from the deep divide to the troubled fire hills. Learned Senden had taught him well the history behind the Faith Wars that had led to Alain's father being assassinated by the Scarlet Sect. Now, nearing his twentieth birthday, the young heir knew it was time for him to raise his banner in rebellion and reclaim what was rightfully his.
Selani watched the prince mop the sweat from his armpits with his discarded combat tunic. "How goes the mighty revolution today, oh glorious leader?" she mocked, wrinkling her nose at his odour.