A strong gust of dry, warm salt-smelling air blows into my face, making my hair flow all over the place. I stand still paying attention to the surf’s sound crashing into my ears, mentally moving me before falling down to my heart, resonating deep inside.

Usually, I leave my small apartment around six-thirty in the evening when I’m done with work. It’s a calm neighborhood with a lot of single-story traditional buildings showing off their facades made of charred wood.

You woke up, the summer sun ruthlessly frying you through the window blinds. You slowly open your eyes to find out that the white sheet you were supposed to cover yourself with is a messy waistband.

He stretched his elbow backward a bit further from the bow, and the tension in the bowstring increased noticeably. A red synthetic string cut deep into his fingers, causing a few micro-fractures to appear on the skin.

“Did you bring it?” said a familiar voice. “We have what you requested,” a cold, inhumane voice slowly responded. “Did you deliver on your part of the agreement?” “Sure, I did.

The guy sitting at the window in a coffee shop on the corner of Church Street and Left Side Street got up from his table to get the order. The pen that he dropped, when standing up, rolled to the edge of the small, wooden square table and stopped there, demonstrating quite distinct bite marks around the barrel.

I set the spaceship on course to the universe’s most delicious edible and maxed out the engines. “Treat of the ages, here I come.” I had been waiting for it long enough.

Once, when I was about six years old, I found myself looking inside a tube of super glue. The thing is, I was curious about how it can work so well.

Mike, the hedgehog, was out late evening looking for food. It was getting dark too fast, almost like someone was playing a trick on him. He was afraid of the darkness.