HistFic

the noise of a dying man is that of a humpack whale reverberating across the desert thermocline, tunneling between the dune and the horizon. he whines, low, not loud, but it surrounds us; ocean pressure straining at the sides of a submerging ship. the harpoon head of the frag bomb burns in his leg - flesh irreparably breached - as that groaning calls navigation signs to some unknown counterpart far across the sand. I can swear to you he will be gone in forty-eight hours from the sepsis if medical can't make it to this fucking shelled-out excuse for a town by tomorrow evening. I give a sedative still, his cries carry like those son

Boiled Frogs 13-8-16 With wimple snatched from bared head I bend before my fetid fate; Hands tied in more ways than one. Flint flickers with a speckle of sparks, Kissing bare branches with baby flames; They catch their own tails As they climb to lick at my feet. The heat reminds me of baking bread, And briefly I wonder if I will bubble like pancakes Or merely burn like bacon too long in the skillet. Tears steam from my face like warm breath on a winter’s day, And the dirty tracks they leave behind only serve as a reminder: I am human; Born a babe in the woods, Dead at twenty in the square. I raise my face, defiant to the last; I am n

Father, have I sinned? Karol wondered, for at least the hundredth time tonight. If it was a sin to listen at the kral's door, was it compounding the sin to speak those secrets? Surely not. Not if it saved a life. I will confess it tomorrow. The boy ran as fast as he could through the halls ending in a breathless mess outside Svatopluk's rooms. One knock on the door. Two. A dishevelled woman answered, impatience in her sharp tone. "What is it?" "I need to speak with with Svatopluk. Please." Karol leaned against the frame, putting his foot in the jamb in case she tried to close it. "He's sleeping." She tried to shut the door and pushed only

when it begins Diao Chan knew of three ways to break a man's arm and had practiced them all several times in the short course of her life, for the most beautiful woman in China was often also the most harassed. That she knew how to defend herself made the situation twice as intolerable. Broad nails bit into her shoulder as the usurper pressed her to his side, a crude display to the court and his silent, watchful son. Lord Dong Zhuo’s limbs were thicker than most, but she could still punish him. She thought of how satisfying it would be to snap his bones, sink her nails into his eyes and rip through his skull. But purpose was a bitter

    Hand carts are a strange mode of transportation; the longer you use them, the lighter they get, the lighter they get, the harder they are to move.  I've been pushing mine for three months.  Mine feels like I've got an entire team of oxen in it, but it's just my little Lucy.  I'm not even sure there's any food left in it.     It's November.  Had we stayed in England this would be crisp, fall weather.  Green would have given way to royal scarlets and golds.  The only red I see now are the prints of my bare feet in the knee high snow.     I push on.  Brother Brigham has called as all to Zion in the tops of the mountains.  Captain Martin th

As soon as he stepped into the open field, he slung the minesweeper from his shoulder and pointed its nose to the ground.  It was old, worn and heavy, and old and rough, calloused and breaking, and old.  The metal between his hands was cold and chilled his fingers.  If he was not careful he could step on the very mines he was trying to find.  They would have to pick up the pieces of his body and to send the tags home where his wife would cry and hold his son and daughter close with nothing to show them of their father but a piece of metal engraved with "Ajeet Singh". One sweep, than another. This war had taught him to never trust open space