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Vicki saw the “email” icon on her phone. She knew that the message was from her best friend Julia. Both of them were traveling, for different reasons, but both women continued their tradition of sending the other “postcards” – self-made, often self-taken photos, of their travels.
She was waiting in a New York airport for her connecting flight. Her traveling companion Dr. Colin Bishara was asleep, resting his head on her shoulder. She opened the email.
Many people don’t know this, but Thomas Alva Edison, the light bulb guy, also claimed to have been working on, what can only be colloquially called, a ghost telephone. Historians all seem to agree that no evidence that he did more than talk about the idea exist. There are no plans, no prototype has even been found, and no patent filed.
Samantha pulled her emerald cloak a little tighter around herself. She could hear the faint sound of the drums and see the orange glow of a fire in the trees. She made her way down the dark path, the drums beginning to beat in her blood. The autumn air held a chill that invigorated her. She followed the path and the crisp scent of wood fire toward the meeting. Read More »
I was bound, tied fast to the metal web. My arms extended over my head, and my legs were spread wide, ankles securely tied. My lace bra and panties, pink as he ordered, only served to make me feel more exposed. I waited in the spider’s parlor.