This story is both an entry into the April 2023 “take your daughter to work day” challenge and a personal homage to a classic shared world from the archives of BCTS.

I could see the plume of smoke rising over the cornfields from several miles away. Not the thick, rolling smoke of a hungry blaze, but the puffs and wisps of a fire nearly burned out. Despite it being over a decade since I last fought a major fire, I still felt the same pulse of adrenaline and the bitter taste of fear and anticipation. As I approached the site along the narrow country road, I pulled over to let the coroner and a police cruiser pass in the other direction. If anything, that made the anticipation worse.

Though the princess and I never quite became close friends, we reached a mutual understanding: both of us simply wanted to complete basic training with minimal complications. Neither of us had the energy to engage in any unnecessary drama or feuds that would only serve as distractions.

In the plane was his daughter Amber, seated in the right seat. A newlywed couple was in the back row, and in front of them were Marcia and Sammy. The little boy had come to help take his mind off the terrors of the Fourth of July, but he wanted his Aunt Marcia along with him. Once Sammy and Marcia were going, Amber wanted to fly with her daddy too.

Though the might of his right arm was already legend, it was not by battle prowess that Sigurd held his men steady in the face of a boiling sea of fearsome creatures, of horrors that would freeze the blood of the most bold.

"I'm staying with her," Femke told him, while pointing at me.

"No, no, that isn't how it works."

"If that isn't how it works," she replied, "I don't think you can say it's working."

If you reached the end, the final end of the final rope, and could take a mulligan, would you?

Freshly sprayed down with Off^®, Marcia, Darryl, and Sammy sat at a picnic table near the Matanuska River dock. It was a ways from where the body had been found, for which they were glad. They didn’t want Sammy thinking about that either. Whether he understood what he’d seen in the case of his parents’ death, or the skeletal hand, would have to be determined by a counselor.

Mary Shelly

Mary Shelly, no not Mary Shelley the authoress of the original Frankinstein and wife of Percy Bysshe Shelley the poet. I’m referring to Mary Shelly the self made multi Quettanairess, the wealthiest person in the inhabited universe.

The Light Between (Part 8 of 8)

by Erisian

Book 5

Chapter 30 - Terminus

For more than thirty years, Deniz Akbas had given fishing tours of the Bosphorus with his small boat. With his pleasant demeanor (and perhaps due to a few missing teeth lending him a certain charm) tourists had found him trustworthy as well as deeming his white-tire clad vessel seaworthy for a day’s cruise. From his pilot’s position in the wooden front compartment, travelers to Istanbul had relaxed in the glass-walled and ivory-benched area in the back where they enjoyed whatever food and drink they’d brought aboard inside their many baskets - all while marveling at the magnificent views of the Turkish seaside and the wide bridge connecting Asia to Europe, a construction officially known as the 15 July Martyrs Bridge and unofficially as the First Bridge.

In all that time he had never been paid so much to do so little.

"I get the picture: The processing center looks at my old world and my new world and asks each one if they want me."

"That's a good way to put it. Then, if you're a no-go in both directions, they give you their whole-new-life bit. It's a package deal: a new name, a Greyhound bus ticket, and the offer of a shitty job that you'd never take. They walk you to the door, tell you the world is your oyster, and give you a great big swat on the butt, 'cause it's your birthday."

When I was younger, I didn’t really think about love. I didn’t think about liking anyone. I was completely ignorant to Valentine’s Day and the barrage of cards and gifts I’d receive. When one is in sixth grade, that’s the farthest thing from your mind. You care about playing sports, reading, or listening to music until either the tape disintegrates, or the batteries die. Either way, one remains oblivious to everything having to do with guys.

Paul’s son Karl has a school assignment that results in Paul bringing Karl into his job.

A Grumpy Old Man’s Tale 44 Spring, Broadband, and Natural Justice

Since being a toddler, Violet had heard many conversations concerning war, it was something regularly discussed by Bearthwaite men, a number of who had served in the armed forces, and she had taken it all in, for to her the Bearthwaite view made perfect sense. Much of what she’d heard over and over again could be summarised in short pithy sentences. ‘Wars are caused by idiots who have the principles that ordinary blokes don’t give a toss about, but end up dying for anyway.’ ‘The number of armed conflicts a nation gets involved in is a measure of the incompetence and stupidity of its leaders because in the end all conflicts are settled around the negotiating table. It doesn’t actually require that much intelligence to have the negotiations before the conflict.’ ‘A squaddie I knew a long time ago who’d been in the mob for twenty-odd years once telt me that a battle that doesn’t happen is one won by the lads on both sides.’

The Light Between (Part 7 of 8)

by Erisian

Book 5

Chapter 25 - Uprising

The mass of people below the balcony windows shouted and screamed, chanting with all the power in their lungs for the end of corruption and misery, for the end of the current responsible regime, calling for the death of the military dictator who many years prior had seized control. Distant gunfire echoed towards the swarm of people still filling the streets and their howling grew only stronger and defiant.

The hotel had once held well-maintained grounds of palm trees and grass, but now its bricks sat scorched by the flames of rebellion, and each night hired security had needed to barricade the doors to keep an angry throng from setting torch to the fineries present within the lobby. The singed patches of carpet he’d stepped across when he’d arrived gave testament that the previous evenings’ defense had not always been successful.

Karma can bring your payback at the most inconvenient of times. But when is ever a good time?

When Robert’s wife’s body is stolen, Robert must discover where and who she is and get her body back. But can he succeed when Exmuritious Forrester, the CEO and owner of Transmigration Studios, decides to stop him? Who can Robert trust, when anyone could be anyone?

When Robert’s wife’s body is stolen, Robert must discover where and who she is and get her body back. But can he succeed when Exmuritious Forrester, the CEO and owner of Transmigration Studios, decides to stop him? Who can Robert trust, when anyone could be anyone?

Bakersville is the ideal little small town with picturesque buildings and happy townsfolk.
But local carpenter Hamish knows better.
A fashion witch has settled here and isn't above bending minds and bodies to her whim.
All to create her ideal and perfect vision.
Now, Hamish suspects he will be her next victim.
Can he fight her? Change his fate? Or has he to accept what the witch has in store for him?

Changing Roles
By Julie Dawn Cole
Chapter 30

When Robert’s wife’s body is stolen, Robert must discover where and who she is and get her body back. But can he succeed when Exmuritious Forrester, the CEO and owner of Transmigration Studios, decides to stop him? Who can Robert trust, when anyone could be anyone?

Writing in Style.
by
Angharad.

I was a calligrapher, I did the fancy writing on things when they didn't want it done by machine, anything from wedding lists and labels to certificates for all sorts, including politicians, when they'd been granted the freedom of the town centre and that sort of thing. I wasn't particularly well paid because you can do it with a computer but when they wanted something special I was the go-to for it in our town.

I had finally done it. I was on my own in my own flat. My marriage had failed and I had split amicably with my wife. She kept the house that had been paid for mostly by a trust fund set up by my parents. I kept the remainder of my savings. I did not begrudge her the house. She had been patient and understanding about my "condition". Both my parents were dead, which is why I was contemplating doing something I had been longing for all my life.