Editorial note: the concept in this short story is very graphic and disturbing, even to me, and even as a work of pure fiction. Read at your own risk.
If this story shows up as some form of fiction somewhere, beware. She is still out there. And she is still hungry. And this is as real as it gets.
that’s a long time ago in the fame game. It’s rare that anybody asks for my autograph these days.
Tobin watches as Santa leaves. He picks up the sprinkles and hands them to Mrs. Claus as she puts down the icing. Mrs. Claus looks at the elf, and a sly smile crosses her lips as she notices the concerned expression on his face. “Something on your mind, Tobin?” she asks.
A little over a week ago, I bought this house. Built about 120 years ago, I expect it to have a few problems. This is a true and honest account of my first night in my house.
a “thud” and lurch let me know that they had hit my vehicle. I turned on my blinker and prepared to pull over to exchange insurance information when again I looked in the mirror. This time, the passenger was holding up a handgun.
The secret service is intimidating enough but waiting in a secured room for so long after being virtually grabbed out of her car made it so much more difficult. She was surprised that they had the same idea of addressing the people regarding her status that she had, although the message was very different.
It just seems so absurd but until this moment, it never really hit her. She just never thought about her routine, the streets, the buildings. She suddenly looked around at the hundreds of tall buildings, the shortest of which typically have at least ten floors, and the rooms.
so sore. What did I do yesterday? I can’t really remember, but I’m so stiff. Did I exercise? Every muscle is sore.
He is a diminutive man, impeccably dressed but his style is about a century out of date.