-
181 Publicações
-
0 fotos
-
0 Vídeos
-
Female
-
06/06/1979
-
Seguido por 0 pessoas
Atualizações Recentes
-
The Fallen SaintThe cathedral of St. Jude’s was a forest of white marble and gold leaf, a place where the light filtered through stained glass to cast kaleidoscopic patterns on the kneeling faithful. In the center of this celestial geometry stood Clara, the Saint of the Silver Light. She was twenty-two, with eyes the color of a winter morning and a voice that could soothe the most violent of fevers. Clara...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 0 Visualizações 0 AnteriorFaça Login para curtir, compartilhar e comentar!
-
sample-刘慈欣短篇科幻小说合集-04变体-202605312108.txtTHE IMPERIAL TIDE I The HMS Endeavour II crested above the atmosphere at dawn, and Captain Arjun Patel watched London recede through the observation viewport—a smoky jewel wreathed in cloud, its lights still visible even in daylight. "The stars look the same from here as they do from Varanasi," he wrote in his log, "only emptier." The fleet consisted of four vessels: the Endeavour II...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 0 Visualizações 0 Anterior
-
Sample V-02: The Gilded Purge(Jazz Age Idealism) New York, 1924. The city was a fever dream of gold leaf and gin. In the penthouse of the Chrysler-esque heights, the air was thick with the scent of Chanel No. 5 and the frantic rhythm of a saxophone. This was the era of the Great Gatsby, where the wealth was as loud as the music and the morality was as thin as the champagne bubbles. Dr. Hannibal Lecter moved through the...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 1 Visualizações 0 Anterior
-
The Vial RemembersI was blown in a glassworks in Bristol in the year 1878. The glassblower was a man named Thomas Hayward, who had learned the trade from his father and who had been drinking since noon. His hands were unsteady, and my walls were thinner on one side than the other, and the foreman had intended to reject me. But the woman who had commissioned the work did not care about symmetry. She was a small,...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 2 Visualizações 0 Anterior
-
THE WEIGHT OF NOTHING### Act I: The Spark Ethan Cross stood in the supermarket aisle for twelve minutes before making a decision. The decision was about cereal. There were fourteen brands on the shelf, from store-brand corn flakes at three dollars a box to artisanal granola at nine dollars, and Ethan was trying to choose one. Not because he was hungry—hunger was not the issue. The issue was that each choice carried...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 2 Visualizações 0 Anterior
-
City of Dark CurrentsThe rain in Manhattan doesn't wash things clean. It just makes the grime slicker. Elena Vasquez knew this. She had been walking through Midtown in a downpour for twenty minutes, backpack strapped tight, trying to reach the 24-hour bodega on 42nd Street before the bus stopped running. She was tired. Tired of the library till two, tired of the bus fare eating her lunch money, tired of trying to...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 2 Visualizações 0 Anterior
-
Arsenal of SinsThe fog had teeth that night. It gnawed at the gas lamps of Whitechapel, chewing the light into yellow smears that pooled on the cobblestones like old wine. Arthur Winters stood over the body in the alley and watched his own hands tremble. Not from fear. From the cold. From the weight of the gun in his right pocket. From the realization, arriving like a slow train, that he had sold that weapon...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 2 Visualizações 0 Anterior
-
The Ghost in the ShellacThe Ghost in the Shellac The Archive's power consumption hit zero at 02:13 on a Thursday. Jasper Cole noticed because he had been watching the power monitor for twenty years. Every night, at the same time, he pulled up the Venable Archive's energy dashboard on his security terminal and watched the numbers. The building's baseline consumption was already minimal — the dormant server farms drew...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 7 Visualizações 0 Anterior
-
The Rust Belt FoxThe town had two thousand fewer people when I was twenty than when I was ten. By the time I was forty-five, another thousand had gone. The factories closed. The mines sealed. The young people left for Columbus or Cleveland or anywhere that still had jobs that paid enough to buy groceries without counting every cent. My name is Jimmy Murphy. I am forty-five years old and I have pneumoconiosis,...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 2 Visualizações 0 Anterior
-
The Gray-Faced ManThe dog came out of the fog like a shadow given flesh, and it bit Arthur Blackwood on the left side of his face. He was twenty-eight years old, the youngest messenger in the Royal Mail service, and he had never been afraid of anything until that moment. The dog was mad. Everyone could see it. Its jaws foamed, its eyes were clouded white, and it made a sound that was not quite a bark but...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 11 Visualizações 0 Anterior
-
The Double Life of Thomas VanceThomas Vance opened the bookshop at nine in the morning and he closed it at six in the evening and he did exactly the same thing every day for three years. He straightened the books. He wiped the counter. He drank tea from a cup that said World's Best Bookseller in letters that were chipped and fading. He watched the people walk past the window and he thought about nothing. This was exactly...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 11 Visualizações 0 Anterior
-
The Wounded EagleI used to be the brightest star in Thornfield County. That's what everyone said, at least. They called me "the natural," "the genius," "the future of the Thorne family." And I believed them. God help me, I believed every word. But belief is a fragile thing in the South, especially when it's built on sand. -- The Thornfield estate had once been the pride of Georgia. Three hundred acres of cotton...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 5 Visualizações 0 Anterior
Mais Stories