A Sampler of My Styles

Blinking bleary eyes in the murky light, he can make out thin limbs & maybe a surgical mask. Then the bright gleam of the scalpel flashes & he feels the flesh of his abdomen part & hears the wet thud of his intestines as they spill into a bowl.

She watched Peter, the psychic, shift in his seat. His eyes drifted over her. All she could read in his expression was hot, barely constrained desire. She stepped toward him, her hips swaying.

With a few more gestures and voice commands, she summarized her work and sent it out to the station as an “all eyes” message, one that would be relayed down to Echo on the surface as well, and then she waited.

1920s woman seated wearing a floral shawl

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