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...in loveby *oprisco
Grim Penance It was raining, pouring like a Biblical event on the sinners. Rain hit my face, slid off the edges of my hat in waves. It felt Biblical, certainly. I wanted to turn my eyes upward and let the water beat twin holes into my brain. I imagined I’d feel it happen with a child’s look of wonder pointed at the clouds. A stupid, silly grin too. The day I met Jack Silver, and by association Conrad Reynolds, was memorable not for the God-wrath behind thunderclaps, but for the way it smelled. Old. Musty. Missing that rebirth in air composition I associated with storms. So I blame the smellGrim Penance
by ~altruisticlies
Logbook of a Private DetectiveFrom the logbook of a Private Detective.Logbook of a Private Detective
Saturday 2/12/1954
It was a dark and stormy night, it sounds cliché, but as a dark and stormy night goes, this one was an example for all the others – a dark, stormy, gloomy night to look up to; the only light came from a dim, flickering streetlamp on the corner. The rain pattered against the café’s window, I looked out at the dark street. I liked this place, it was one of the only places in the city that served coffee after six o’ clock, and without a steady stream of caffeine running through my veins I was hopeless.
An airy tu
by ~sereneworx
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- Current Residence: In a cardboard box
- Favourite game: Kingdom Hearts, Soul Calibur, Final Fantasy
- Personal Quote: "I want my money now!"
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