Beautifully written SFF
He calls me the Motorcycle Man. One word? Possibly. I’ve never seen it in print. Certainly never needed to scratch it on paper. The Boy knew my proper name up until last week, when he forgot. I forgive him. Besides, I like Motorcycle Man just fine. It says all it needs to. I’m forever wearing a white jumpsuit crossed with Dixie stars. My helmet appears on my head whenever I ride, but it’s gone when …
When the girl moves almost next door – across the way in our apartment complex – I lose my breath. Literally. She’s – well, gorgeous doesn’t begin to cover it. Long, incredibly rich black hair that you know just from looking at will feel like silk, and extraordinary eyes that I’ve never seen before – large, green, tilted, kinda cat shaped, really. The eyes are the first thing you see in the face, which is …
“Ochre!” Mahj’s tired shout was the crunch of autumn leaves underfoot, and the densely packed tomes of the library devoured the sound. “Ochre!” She tried again, her voice straining, tempting another coughing fit. Running from place to place was a student’s game. “Coming!” came the faint reply, wafting through the archives like a shallow breath. While Ochre’s footsteps grew from light pats to insistent thumps, Mahj looked again at the open journal in front of …
Like the sound of soft fingers on skin, green palm fronds whispered amongst themselves. Their soft breath caressed his cheek as he listened for the slight scratching of frond cilia against stiff palm trunks. “Sam.” The breeze was stronger, the fronds closer. He could almost feel them tickling his face. “Sam. You’ll be late for work.” He stirred, allowed the cold waves to sift sand from underneath him. Gently, that was the way, no quick… …
