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173 Beiträge
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02/01/1964
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The Aesthetes' ReturnThe Aesthetes' Return I. Julian Ashworth dreamed of color dying. It was not a metaphor. In the dream, he stood in a gallery—white walls, parquet floor, gaslight dimmed to amber—and before him hung a painting he recognized as his own. A landscape of the Sussex downs, painted that summer, bright with green and gold and the blue of a sky he had studied for weeks to get right. But in the dream, the...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 0 Ansichten 0 BewertungenBitte loggen Sie sich ein, um liken, teilen und zu kommentieren!
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The Last Summer of Children's IslandHer brother's voice drifted up from the kitchen below, where the children of Children's Island had assembled themselves for dinner on a Tuesday in August, 1888. Thirty-seven of them, ranging from eight to fourteen years of age, sitting at tables made from upturned crates and doors. Eleanor was thirteen and had been in charge for eleven days. She was very good at being in charge. Her father had...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 0 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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sample-刘慈欣短篇科幻小说合集-01-202606011308.txtThe Stellar Elegy March 15, 1887 I saw it today. The anomaly. It appeared in the telescopic data as nothing more than a slight perturbation in Uranus's orbit—a gravitational tug that didn't match any known celestial body. I told Professor Thorne about it at dinner that evening. He ate his roast beef in silence, then wiped his mouth with a linen napkin and said, "Edmund, you've been working...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 0 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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The Twilight LoopThe town of Oakhaven existed in a permanent state of amber. The sun never fully rose and never truly set; it simply hovered at the horizon, casting long, distorted shadows that seemed to move independently of the people who cast them. Thomas woke up at 6:00 AM to the sound of a distant, rhythmic tolling of a bell. He knew the routine. He would brush his teeth with a toothbrush that felt...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 0 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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THE PHOTOGRAPHER AT GROUND ZEROACT I: THE SHUTTER (20%) The photograph appeared on page three of The Metropolitan Ledger, beneath the headlines about stock prices and the theatre season. It showed a soldier—Tommy couldn't tell you which side, and neither could anyone else—kneeling in the ruins of a building, holding a child. The child might have been three years old. The child might have been five. The soldier's face was...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 0 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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THE QUIET ENDFrank O'Malley woke at six in the morning. It was not an alarm clock that woke him. It was the habit of waking at six, established twelve years ago in a base camp in the Ho Chi Minh Trail and never broken, even after he broke everything else. He lay in the dark. The apartment was small—one bedroom, one bathroom, a kitchen that was really just a corner with a stove and a refrigerator the size of...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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THE LAST GREAT GATSBY'S WARACT I: THE JAZZ CLUB (20%) The piano player at Le Diable Noir was playing a tune Nick Calloway had never heard but felt he had lived. It was slow and sad and sounded like a man walking through a room where everything he had loved had been taken, and he didn't know when it happened or by whose hand, so he just kept walking. Nick sat at the bar with a whiskey that was half water and watched the...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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THE HOLLOW MERIDIANACT I: THE LOCKED ROOM (20%) The rifle was too heavy for Corinne to lift. It was an old thing—World War I era, maybe older, with a walnut stock worn smooth by a hundred hands and a barrel that had seen more use than any weapon should. It sat on a shelf in the Thorne family library, behind glass, and every person who had entered that room since 1919 had left with the same instruction from...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 2 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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The Thorny EstateThe Delacroix Manor had been beautiful once. Pearl could see it in the way the columns still stood straight, in the way the iron gates still arched with a grace that decades of rust couldn't quite destroy. Beautiful and dying, like most things in this town. She stood on the front porch—which sagged perceptibly under her weight—and watched a heron wade through the overgrown duck pond that had...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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The Noise of BeingI am Unit 734. I exist as a sequence of pulses in the Great Archive, a shimmering sea of pure consciousness where the history of a trillion souls is stored as light. There is no hunger here, no cold, no death. There is only the Flow. For a million cycles, I performed my function: I pruned the redundancies. I deleted the duplicate memories, the overlapping griefs, the unnecessary echoes of old...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 9 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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The Patient from BelowThe voice started on a Tuesday, in the basement of Dr. Edward Blackwood's clinic in the town of Arkham, Massachusetts. Eddie was fifteen, brilliant and troubled in equal measure, and he had spent the last three years sitting on his father's examination table while his father examined other people's minds. His father was sitting in his armchair, conducting what should have been a routine session...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 11 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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The Legacy of DustThe champagne flowed like a river of liquid gold at the Plaza Hotel, but Julian Thorne could only taste the metallic tang of his own fatigue. Around him, the Roaring Twenties were in full scream—flappers in sequined dresses dancing to a frantic jazz beat, men in tuxedoes shouting about the next big stock tip. It was the peak of the era, and Julian was its undisputed architect. He had built an...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 9 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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