In Malanihayata, the Ever-Changing City, there existed myriad ways for a smith to die.
Amy wrestled the key into the beach house door with one hand while balancing her phone on her shoulder, the whole operation complicated by the tote bag weighing down one arm.
It started when Leda lifted her head from her pillow and a dead fly tumbled onto her pillowcase.
When I opened the window this morning, three parrots were perched in a tree hanging over a deserted beach of pure white sand that stretched towards a dazzling horizon.
How many steps can a person take until the course of events becomes irreversible—fifty?
The walls of the city shuddered under cannon fire and smoldered with flames.