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189 Publicações
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Female
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07/11/1962
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The Cat of Whispering OaksWhispering Oaks was a town that had forgotten why it existed. The cotton fields were overgrown. The main street had six businesses and three of them were closed. The cypress trees lined the roads like soldiers who had been dismissed but ordered to remain at their posts. Silas Beauregard lived in the big house at the end of Magnolia Lane. Nobody remembered when the house was built. Nobody...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 1 Visualizações 0 AnteriorFaça Login para curtir, compartilhar e comentar!
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The Glass CeilingThe office of Sterling & Cross was a cathedral of glass and chrome, designed to make the humans inside feel small and the capital they managed feel infinite. Elena sat at her desk on the 54th floor, the city of New York sprawling below her like a circuit board of ambition and greed. She was the most brilliant analyst in the firm, a woman who could spot a market anomaly in a thousand pages of...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 1 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The View From Window 3BThe View from Window 3B Act I The courtyard of the building at 247 Wythe Avenue in Brooklyn was exactly the kind of thing people paid eighteen hundred dollars a month to look at. It was eight hundred square feet of cracked concrete, two dying plane trees, and a bench that had been painted green so many times the paint had become a geological formation. But from the right angle --...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 4 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Arrogant DebtIn the glass towers of New York's fashion district, talent is a currency and loyalty is a luxury. Mia was a junior assistant at the house of Valerius, a woman whose sketches were breathtaking but whose confidence was nonexistent. She lived in the shadow of the industry's cruelty, surviving on a diet of ambition and anxiety. She found Julian in a state of absolute ruin. Once the "Golden Boy" of...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 4 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Map of Lost ThingsKarl lived in the veins of New York. He was a sanitation worker for the MTA, a man whose world was defined by the smell of ozone, damp concrete, and the discarded remnants of eight million lives. He was a ghost in a high-visibility vest, invisible to the commuters who rushed over his head toward their shimmering towers of glass. Karl had a secret. In a small, rented room in Queens, he kept a...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 6 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Last Ember of Normandy(V-09: WWII / Tragic Romance) The hedgerows of Normandy were a wall of emerald green, hiding a thousand ways to die. Julian Thorne lay in the mud, the smell of cordite and wet earth filling his nostrils. He was a man who knew the end of the war, who knew the exact date of the surrender and the names of the generals who would sign the documents. He had come to 1944 not to win the war—that was...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 2 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The rain in Chicago doesn't wash things clean. It just makes the grime slicker. Frank Kowalski knewThe rain in Chicago doesn't wash things clean. It just makes the grime slicker. Frank Kowalski knew this better than most. He had been walking these streets for forty years, through two wars and three marriages and a lifetime of mistakes that piled up like snow against a door. He sat in his apartment on South Halsted, watching the neon sign from the bar across the street pulse through the...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 5 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The job offer came on a rainy Tuesday in November, which was appropriate because rain was the weather Jack Morrow trusted. Rain made everything honest. It stripped the paint off buildings and the lies off faces.The woman who offered the job was tall and thin, with black hair cut in a style that was new and not yet fashionable, and eyes that had seen too much and not enough. She called herself Veronica and she sat in Jack office drinking coffee and looking at the rain through the window. I need you to encode a manuscript, she said. Jack looked at her. What kind of manuscript. A literary manuscript....0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 4 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Currency of BreathIn the New York of 2050, time is no longer a concept; it is the only currency. The "Chronos Exchange" allows citizens to trade years, months, and hours like stocks. A small apartment in Brooklyn costs ten years of your life; a luxury penthouse in Manhattan costs a century. I am a "Life-Broker." I don't deal in money; I deal in breath. My office is a sterile cube of glass and chrome. My clients...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 6 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Gulf of Maine Containment ProtocolThe first time Thomas West understood that Dr. Kozlov was not a psychiatrist, it was raining on the coast of Maine and the windows of the consultation room had fogged over from the inside, so that the lawn and the pine trees and the gray strip of the Atlantic beyond them all dissolved into the same indeterminate blur. Dr. Kozlov had asked him about the dreams again, the same question he asked...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 6 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Spotlight ContractThe fan magazine hit the stands on a Tuesday, and by Thursday, every woman in Hollywood was asking her husband the same question: if you had to kiss someone on camera for a living, would you want it to be me? Clara Whitfield read the question in Photoplay, printed in pink type beneath a photograph of her and Tom Hargrove holding hands on the set of Whispers in the Dark, both of them smiling the...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 14 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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Log 8842: The Two-Dimensional FoldObservation Point: Omega-7, Edge of the Observable Void. Subject: Civilization-4412 (Self-identified as "Humanity"). Status: Terminal. I have watched four thousand civilizations rise and fall. Most end in fire, some in ice, and a few in the quiet slumber of stagnation. But Civilization-4412 was... curious. They were a species of contradictions. They spent centuries arguing about the nature of...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 14 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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