The onset was swift, the shade of the palm tree fading into a small tent set by a gurgling river. A young boy swung a hammer, beating on a piece of metal. A girl around the same age, her eyes the unusual color of jade, crept into the tent, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck and causing him to drop the hammer. He whirled around in the surprise, then smiled at the girl. Just as he was about to stroke a stand of her glossy hair, a sword appeared in his chest, seemingly going straight threw...

Brody slid into the first seat he saw, wanting to get settled before the doors shut and the stragglers were forced to miss the class. He was at the end of the row; to his right was a girl with her red hair pulled in a bun so tight Brody imagined it was pulling the skin away from her scalp. She gave him a cursory glance, and for the hundredth time that day Brody felt himself not belonging. The professor hurrumphed and thirty pairs of eyes honed in on his face. “Welcome to Philosophy 101. My ...

Earl wiped down the counter for what seemed like the hundredth time, even though there had been no actual business to get it dirty. Most men would have given up and gone home already; trying to sell ice cream during a New York snow storm was like trying to sell a skateboard to an arthritic grandmother. Not totally impossible, but not a business one could really rely on to bring home the bacon, either. Still, Earl Anson Golding III, owner, proprietor, and sole employee of Earl’s Swirls Ice Cr...