Mercury Bones[link]
It's a short story entitled "Mercury Bones," featuring telepaths and multiple personality syndrome. Enjoy!
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PainlessI don’t get caught out very often, and when I do I end up beaten and humiliated. The beatings don’t faze me; it’s the humiliation that gets to me. ‘Ms Kane, I presume?’ The stunning Chinese woman before me bent over to get a better look at my bloody, bruised face. ‘You have something that belongs to me.’ ‘Call me Theo, won’t you? It’s so much friendlier.’Painless
One of the men pinning me to my apartment floor slapped me across the back of my head, giving me a mouthful of carpet to shut my big mouth with. ‘Show some respect to Miss Lee,’ he growled. ‘It’s alright, Hui,’ Xian
by ~violetcorona
ReligionMiguel had no gravestone for Scarlett to visit. There was no monument where she could go and leave flowers, or sit and talk to him. Even if there had been one, it would be somewhere in Tularosa and she was in Louisiana. A long way to go to remember a dead man.Religion
But it had been a year since his death and she couldn’t help but remember him today. Couldn’t help but reply it all in her mind: the crack of the gun, the sharp intake of breath before he slumped to the ground. If she closed her eyes, she could see the bullet wound. The gunman had hit him right between the eyes, killing him instantly. She’d held him in her arms and t
by ~violetcorona
BlossomThere was a cherry blossom tree in the garden, a slender truck capped by an explosion of snowy petals. In the spring Scarlett had spent hours sitting under it, sending tiny fireballs up through the thin branches to dance around the flowers. It had been a game, a test of her control. Every singed, burnt petal that drifted down to the ground was a reminder of the damage she could do if she wasn’t careful.Blossom
Now it was late autumn and all the petals lay scattered on the dry earth, mixing with the russet leaves of the maple trees. She leaned against the trunk of t
by ~violetcorona
BurnedA building burned on the edge of town, an empty warehouse set alight in the early hours of the morning. Scarlett was drawn like a moth to the blaze, her whole body overwhelmed by the desire to bask in the heat, feel the flickering flames against her skin. The building was already ringed by rubber-neckers waiting for the fire fighters to arrive and she had to slip through the crowd to get close. Orange and gold tongues of fire licked at the old brickwork, through shattered windows and broken doors. Scarlett smelt the faint reek of gas in the air; something hadBurned
by ~violetcorona
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*freyals is my babycakes!!!
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Writers have to simultaneously believe the following two things:
1) The story I am now working on is the greatest work of genius ever written in English.
2) The story I am now working on is worthless drivel.
~Orson Scott Card
--
"Illusion is the first of all pleasures" - Oscar Wilde
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"Illusion is the first of all pleasures" - Oscar Wilde
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