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Submitted to Contest #80
The three figures huddled in the night chill. Hentley, old and bent, tossed the crushed can into the fire and looked across at the ex-indentured Message Runner.The young man gestured at the sheepskin-clad Eurasian face with blue eyes crumpled by the fire."Is that why you keep this one along?""He just follows me everywhere; I appreciate the company. I hear the 'collectors' are nosing around.""Yeah. I hate those patrols. Seen a few dragged off. They don't come back. Were you in Liberty Square when the shrine fell in on February 22nd...
Submitted to Contest #78
Tom was a boiler stoker in a sweaty, tobacco stained room for forty years with big dreams. He'd always wanted to build things in his spare time, but girls, the Great War, marriage, kids and all that comes of these things had kept him from his quietly modest romances. So it was with a snatching smile that he took his retirement silver tray from the company and instantly pawned it off for a portable welder from a bloke down a dusty old farm road. A long time at the company lunch breaks he'd bathed in the shadows of scaffolding, t...
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