“We go, son. Now,” Dad said absently. He took a long step up and pulled the driver’s door shut with a grunt, the mosquito net clinking against the thick safety glass of the windows. He stashed the gas mask between the seats. Dad’s worn leather cowboy hat was pulled up and a sweat covered his forehead, his gray, bushy eyebrows riddled with tiny drops. He propped his massive body into the driver’s seat, wrinkling the plastic coat that covered most of what was inside, and rammed the car key into the ignition.
by N. Kaouthia illustrated by iyori (mirrors http://s2b2.livejournal.com/94758.html) Suspend your belief about Las Vegas house odds, ‘cuz baby, I’m up twenty grand at Caesar’s Palace and still winning. I am hitting the big bucks at the high stakes table and no one is busting me just yet. “Thanks, baby,” I tell the dealer, Chris, […]
by N. Kaouthia (mirrors http://s2b2.livejournal.com/88336.html) The Archive was a long, cylindrical room, completely bare except for the single black podium in the center. Daryl pressed his hand against the podium’s screen and a long list appeared, the screen pulsing at the edges. His fingers glided smoothly up and down the side of the list, the […]
by N. Kaouthia illustrated by fightfair (mirrors http://s2b2.livejournal.com/68353.html) If Lucille hadn’t asked him, Luther Salvador would not be at this fucking stupid kissing booth. He’d been assigned the dumb booth for the whole day, just to raise money for the orphans. Who the hell cared about the poor homeless kids? So they didn’t have food. […]
by N. Kaouthia (mirrors http://s2b2.livejournal.com/64202.html) There’s a ghost living in Horace’s house. Horace isn’t surprised–he’s run into a few ghosts before, as far as he remembers–but this ghost . . . Horace can’t see him. Horace knows it’s a ghost for sure, though. There are phantom handprints on the wall, and sometimes in the middle […]