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by PV
Those Pharaohs! It seemed they had thought of everything. Here a chance digging for what he felt was a minor fragment of a bucket in the dry depths of a well in the Sinai had resulted in a whirlpool, a maelstrom of sand what carried him down into this dusty chamber guarded by the dessicated remains of a decapitated Cerebus, trimmed back to just an ordinary temple dog.
They ran fast through the back yard, hoping to escape.
by GS
The tour had reached the Palace on the other side. No one seemed to be around, so they landed at the small hidden dock and climbed up the ladder to the palace tower. There was opulence everywhere, and not a guard in sight! Carl couldn't resist one small masterpiece so he snagged it and covered it with his shirt. It was an exquisite sculpture of a perfectly formed wolf. Suddenly there were shouts and foot-stomps behind them. They ran fast through the yard, hoping to escape since they knew they had been seen trespassing and pilfering. Unfortunately the back fence could not be scaled, and they all died in a hail of arrows from the guards.
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by CC
What if you were a scarecrow, planted in a field with
several other scarecrows? What if you were a particularly busty scarecrow in a
grass skirt? Would not you be filled with longings, memories, and dreams,
piling up inside you in your forced immobility? Would the incongruity of your
dress and upswept hair-do fill you with irony, or make you the ultimate cynic? What if you were a busty scarecrow in a floozy outfit, and
someone came by with a blowtorch – or,
maybe, a magic wand? Would you rather burn or transform? And isn’t that a
universal question, so to speak?
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