And Lo, the traveller came at last to the sky's edge. He put down his staff + poked his head thru the fabric of space, beholding the mighty clockwork of the cosmos, the great turning gears, the merry go round and the ferris wheel. He smelled the heavenly corndogs and heard the calliope music. And he said, "Hey wait for me you guys!"

Prolog to the Epilogue

But Satan never rests, and he sent an imp to whisper temptation in our good Rabbi’s ear. Sitting all unfelt on his shoulder, the imp whispered, “You have the rest of the day to yourself, your golf gear is in the car, and no one who knows you will be on the golf course. And of course you pass it on your way home. You may as well play a round as be sitting at home doing nothing.”

“Impossible,” The Rabbi muttered, though he was tempted. “Today is Yom Kippur. Impossible!”

Concerning π which has long fascinated many.

I hadn't intended on making a sequel. But the characters had more to say.

"Marvin Vining, please report to the school office."

The sycophant and his friends snickered. A few people, those who have been tutored by Marvin, looked sympathetic. Most didn't seem to care one way or the other.

Marvin stopped by his locker and stashed his backpack. He took his phone out of the locker, sent a text, and slipped it into his pocket.

This is a Trust Machines story. If you're not familiar with them, you aren't likely to understand this one. It is a short-short, so there is no development of the background.

There is a discussion of the Trust Machines universe in the parent organizer of this story. (Click [up] at the bottom of this story.)

The Trust Machine universe is discussed here: https://www.deviantart.com/trust-machines

Nobody would likely note the three high school boys that were walking down the sidewalk. The boy on the left was rather large, well over six feet and quite stocky. He was walking with a cocky swagger, and had a cruel smile on his face.

What do you do when you look 7 years old, but you're actually a college student in your late teens? For Kathleen's entire life, she had fought against people treating her much younger than her actual age. Feeling obligated to grow up fast to show people she wasn't the age of her size, Kathleen never let her inner child out. Tired of fighting against the world, she explores the adult submissive world. What she finds, however, is an enjoyment of regression. Had she made a mistake? Would life be better if she just let people treat her how she looks, 7 years old?

“There are no stories that old, Father!”

“Indeed not many, Naomi, but there are some. Most are not told often, for many are incomplete, some just fragments, and often they disagree with each other. One of the most popular girls’ names for centuries has been Scowla, so would you like to hear of Our Lady of Niok and how Saint Scowla was visited by her with the passion in front of thousands and viewed by millions?”

The idea of having a job and working with more girls who would ignore me and more boys who would hit me terrified me. I was depressed and thinking about ending it all because the idea of possibly another sixty years like the last twenty was too much.

I’m having the surgery next month but there will be traces of it left and there are of course implications if he wants a family.

Marília had been found at a few hours old abandoned in a slum in Brazilia and the church had her taken to Lisbon under a ‘special’ orphans’ program. Neither the church, nor life had been kind to her, and she wanted the prize money, third prize would do, to pay for what she needed to be able to live with some dignity. She had all the requisite parts of a woman, but she was self conscious and would never let any, least of all a man, see her naked self, because she had more than the requisite parts of a woman.

Few people came to know him because when he was there the university was empty, the young men were away busy dying in the trenches of the First World War.

.

Jacques died smiling. The token Christian priest in attendance, who had been seriously disturbed by the pagan nature of what he had witnessed merely said, “Of a surety God will assoil him.” He maekt no mention of Jacques’ likelihood of entering heaven, which those there considered to be appropriate given what they knew of Jacques’ beliefs.

Where necessary or possibly helpful to some, there are notes at the end on word usage.

You either do your best to put a babe under my heart or you sleep on the floor.

NOTE. For those familiar with Castle from elsewhere, this is a new backstory that takes place forty-eight Castle years before the incursion of 568 after the Fell year by which time Travisher has long since dien and Will is the sixty-two year old Master huntsman and about to retire.

For information on spelling I refer you to Castle The Series - The Title Page. You are not looking at typos or mistakes it's supposed to be like that!
Unagreeän, single, unmarried, one without a marital agreement.

Author note:
I wrote this as a VERY short story in 1987 and placed it in the city of Carmel, CA.
Well, I decided to ramp it back and place it back in the town I lived in when it was conceived: Papillion, Nebraska.
The concept is sort of like “Come Back to Texas”, but with a high school freshman vibe.

And yes, Sharon tolerates them due to all of them being in the same class since Kindergarten.

I was filthy after having serviced a Massey Ferguson combine harvester

My legs all by themselves had found the station and my feet had found themselves on a train for the highlands.

Amidst the roars of laughter Gladys arrived with a tray of fresh pints to exchange for empties. “Sasha, one of these days someone is going do you a serious mischief for your tales. Have you even heard of PC?”

Denis took a good pull on his pint before saying, “Teaching an all girls class is different. Teaching sciences to an all girls class is definitely different. You have to have a sense of humour and remember not to take their flirting seriously. They’re just practising.”

There were a couple of hundred brassières in every style and fashion from the last seventy-odd years, including ones with cups that couldn’t possibly have reached as high as the nipples which I thought were like what my sisters called quarter cup bras, but Mum told me they were referred to as décolleté brassières in their day, and Granny had worn them with some of her evening gowns.

 
 
The sound of footsteps distracted her, very heavy sounding footsteps and Nyssa turned her gaze toward the front of the cave to see the dragon coming right toward them. It was the single biggest creature that she had ever seen, or even imagined, and could easily swallow her whole. How did those people not notice it? She needed to get them out of the cave. Aris preserve me, she prayed silently to the Goddess of life and light as she unsheathed her sword and dropped the sheath as she leaped out of the crevice, placing herself between them and the massive creature. "Go!" she shouted at them. "Run! I'll keep it busy!”

In an isolated laboratory, a biologist creates new animals and new species. But to the disappointment of the authorities and the possible approval of wordplay enthusiasts, something goes slightly wrong...

Rejuvenation

A story in the MORFS universe

The honky-tonk roadhouse was rocking when she rolled up on the vintage hog. She walked the motorcycle back towards the stairway that led down from the front door and porch. Taking the mirrored aviator shade off, she surveyed the area for people standing around and spotted only two. They were on either side of the entrance. Both were over six two and looked like they had played linemen on the local community college football team.

She wasn’t six stone wringing wet through, but she’d run a taxi office day and night in a city centre for ten years, starting the day she left school, and could handle herself.

“So how come you’re here starring at the weekly bullshit session?”

“Belinda went out to get her hair done this afternoon. She got to yacking with another lassie in the hairdresser’s, and seeing as they were both going shopping at Tesco after they had coffee together. This lassie Gwen mentioned her old man was going out to the pub tonight. She said it was the men’s story telling night and invited her round for a girls night in with some friends and a bottle of wine or two. Now I ask you, how many retired professional liars do you know called Sasha? She found out which pub and here I am. I only live twelve miles a way. Christ, man, it’s good to see you. I’d wondered if you were dead.”

“Nah. Mark Twain had the right of it when he said, ‘The report of my death was an exaggeration.’