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183 Entradas
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27/08/1973
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What Was SharedI never knew my great-great-grandfather's name. The records say he was born Eamonn O'Brien in County Cork in 1830, but the family called him James after he changed it when he came to America. The name he chose was not more American—it was just newer. Like everything else about him. His father was Seamus MacNamara, a Catholic priest who was also, in secret, a botanist and a doctor. Seamus was...0 Commentarios 0 Acciones 2 Views 0 Vista previaPlease log in to like, share and comment!
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The Last Bullet of the Rust BeltThe job came through a contact at a truck stop off I-70. His name was Dale. He ran a diner in a town called Iron Creek that didn't appear on most maps. The population was three thousand if you counted the ghosts. He met me in the parking lot behind the diner. A Ford pickup, flat left rear tire, exhaust pipe hanging by a thread. He didn't introduce himself. Just handed me an envelope and said,...0 Commentarios 0 Acciones 4 Views 0 Vista previa
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The Jazz of Empty SpaceThe bar was called The Blue Note, and it was located on 135th Street in Harlem, in a building that had been a speakeasy during Prohibition and had been a bar ever since, which meant that it had never really closed even when the law said it should have. The neon sign outside buzzed with an intermittent flicker that had become, in the twelve years since Jack Lockwood had first walked in, as much...0 Commentarios 0 Acciones 9 Views 0 Vista previa
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ArrangementI was not supposed to be there. That was the first rule of my life: you are never supposed to be where you are, because being where you are means you are visible, and being visible in this city is a fast track to something you never want to happen. But I was at the Sunset diner on a Wednesday night in 1954, sitting in my usual booth by the window, nursing a coffee that had gone cold ten minutes...0 Commentarios 0 Acciones 9 Views 0 Vista previa
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The last bell tolled at three in the morning, and Arthur Blackwood woke from it.He was already awake before the sound reached him. He had been awake for one hundred and seven mornings, each one beginning with the same bell, the same cold light filtering through heavy velvet curtains, the same smell of damp wool and beeswax that filled his townhouse on Grosvenor Square. He did not open his eyes at first. He counted the seconds between the bell's first stroke and its last....0 Commentarios 0 Acciones 20 Views 0 Vista previa
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The Fox's MaskACT I: THE SMOKE The opium den beneath Royal Mile was a place that existed in the space between waking and dreaming, where the air was thick with smoke and the walls were the color of old teeth. Duncan McVey knew every corner of it—he had spent five years learning its geography, mapping its shadows, memorizing the faces of the men and women who floated between consciousness and oblivion in...0 Commentarios 0 Acciones 4 Views 0 Vista previa
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The Architecture of Delusion (V-14)The walls of the Saint Jude’s Asylum for the Incurable were a pale, sickly green, the color of a bruise that refuses to heal. Patient 7 lived in Cell 402, a room that smelled of bleach and old sweat, where the only window was a slit of reinforced glass that let in a single, mocking finger of sunlight. Patient 7 was a "Dimensionalist." He spent his days pacing the length of his cell—exactly six...0 Commentarios 0 Acciones 12 Views 0 Vista previa
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The Experiment at BlackwoodAct One: The Book in the MarginThe boy was seven years old and reading a book that had no business in the hands of a child.Dr. Julian Blackwood saw him in the reading room of the York Minster library, sitting on the floor with his back against a stone pillar, a copy of Freud's The Interpretation of Dreams open on his knees. The book was water-stained, its pages dog-eared, the margin filled with...0 Commentarios 0 Acciones 4 Views 0 Vista previa
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The Flesh Garden(V-09: Gothic Horror) The experiment began with a spark of hope. Julian had found a way to reverse the shrinking process. He didn't want to be a god to the micro-humans; he wanted them to be his equals. He wanted to bring them back into the light of the Macro-world. He built the Growth Chamber—a cathedral of glass and nutrient-rich fluids. He selected a group of volunteers, the bravest of the...0 Commentarios 0 Acciones 12 Views 0 Vista previa
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The last light of New CarthageShe came to him on a night like any other—fog pressing against the gas lamps of the city, tide grinding itself against the limestone cliffs below the harbor. But this night, Arthur Blackwood was not himself. He had been awake for three days and two nights, pacing the stone floor of his study at Blackwood Manor, surrounded by pages of calculations that no sane man would believe. Then she...0 Commentarios 0 Acciones 14 Views 0 Vista previa
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The jazz of fading starsThe music was dying, and nobody wanted to admit it. Not in New York, where the music was everything. Not in Chicago, where the music was the only thing. And certainly not in Julian Ashford, who had spent the last five years composing jazz that made people dance because they were afraid of what would happen when the music stopped. It was 1925, and the city was drowning in its own prosperity....0 Commentarios 0 Acciones 14 Views 0 Vista previa
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The Last Beacon of the WastesThe world had ended not with a bang, but with a long, slow exhale. The Great Collapse had left the continents fragmented, the cities buried under ash, and the survivors huddled in isolated city-states, clutching the remnants of a forgotten technology. Kael was a Chronicler, a man whose life was spent in the dust of archives, searching for the "Old Codes" that could restart the world. He had...0 Commentarios 0 Acciones 7 Views 0 Vista previa
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