Harry walked into the party with his wife on his arm. Everywhere he looked sculpted beauties gazed back at him. He felt out of place with his middle age sag and his wrinkles. If he didn't fit in, Faye stood out like a minivan at a Porsche convention.. Since the death of their youngest son she had taken comfort in food. You could make dresses for any two other woman in the room from what she was wearing. She saw the buffet and gave Harry's arm a squeeze and headed for the food.

Harry shook his head and smiled. He started to mingle with the others. He held a drink and pretended to drink from it. He was just thinking that it was time to leave when a woman came up behind him and took his arm. He knew immediately that she was three parts intoxicated.

“Hey, handsome,” she purred, “How about you and me find some privacy.”

“I'm married,” he said trying to turn away.

“So am I, what of it?”

“Not interested,” Harry said starting to get annoyed.

“What, you prefer her?” the woman sneered.

Harry looked at his wife. For a moment he saw what everyone saw. A fat woman with an over full plate surrounded by the best Hollywood's surgeons could produce. Then he looked deeper and saw the woman who still struggled with her grief, and helped him struggle with his. The woman who had brought his four children into the world. He saw the woman who on the day he married her outshone any two woman in this room.

“I do.”

“What does she have that I don't have?”

“Me,” said Harry and he went to join his beautiful wife.

Ben rattled his keys as he fought the reluctant deadbolt in his front door, a daily ritual that reminded him any domicile worth battling with just to gain entry must be worth living in.

Trudging into the kitchen, he snapped on his white-noise machine, a cheap 13-inch television that no longer received actual channels, just tuneless static.

Ben went to the living room and sat down. His living room had an easel in the corner, and assorted paints and brushes scattered about. The bare light fixture in the ceiling seemed to compete with, rather than add to, the light from a lamp next to his chair, the only other item of note in the room.

There was no television or radio in here. No books, pictures or computer. Ben didn't even have a telephone, although in that respect, he thought he was one-up on the rest of society.

What he did have was color. When he moved in, Ben started painting on the the bare walls, with no clear end point in mind. Some areas showed landscape, some showed nameless people in different stages of activity, still others displayed random designs. Here and there were splashes of reds and yellows, spatters of blues and greens, and arcs and spirals of all colors in between.

This is where Ben's mind lived, one image blending into the next. As he looked at the wall in front of him, he took note of older layers peeking through new, children vying for their parents attention, wanting to be noticed.

Ben hoisted himself out of the chair and walked over to the paints, where he grabbed a jar of medium blue and a fat brush. Turning around, he spied a section of closet door that looked a bit empty and started painting...

The street was bustling with energy as people made their way toward their destinations but Simeon only had one thing on his mind; finding that old friend from the Academy he hadn't seen in the six years when they'd moved on to their postings. The fact they'd managed to spot one another mind-blowing; so far the Authorities had managed to keep those with their gifts well-separated to prevent their discovery.

So he followed, smirking in his mischievous way he set out to follow her, rain dripping from the eaves as Lorelei remained oblivious; she must actually be taking those 'vitamins' those in charge pressed on her. Simeon had resisted on principle alone and ended up the better for it, his mind clear and abilities intact. Now watching his friend he appreciated the fact even more.

The woman stepped into a small alley and he saw his chance, darting closer for a moment and bringing his mind to bear telekinetically, lightly pressing at her shoulder. Evidently she'd also stopped taking her anxiety medications; she wheeled around and opened her mouth to shout, causing him to reflexively press her backward against the concrete of the wall. For a moment she was simply shocked, then quieted as she recognized him- but someone else was coming, and in the blue uniform of the Authority's police!

In a split-second decision he chose the most reliable of the calculated risks and leaned closer. "Hello Lorelei," Simeon murmured, then brought a hand to her cheek and pressed his lips to hers. With a chuckle the guards walked away and he could only hope that the dual contact would bring her abilities back and force aside the poison in her mind as well as a cover for their meeting.

The little man sat disconsolately at the small fire in the woods. His latest excursion into the lands of the humans had been an abject failure. He didn't even bother to move away from the smoke - it would follow him anyway - it was that kind of night.

He checked how his toad was cooking. Peering at it through watering eyes he thought it was done. Unfortunately it was still raw in the middle.

"Ugh," he muttered, "I hate raw toad." He put the stick back closer to the fire and took another slug from the magic wineskin at his side.

Humans were just not as stupid as they used to be. He blamed it on the lack of royalty. No one promised their elected officials that their daughters could weave gold from straw, and even if they did they worse that would happen would them being told that she needed a business license.

"Bah," he muttered, "I hate humans. What would I do with someone's first born anyways? Noisy, ugly creatures. They don't even taste good." He took a few more slugs from the wineskin.

He needed a new gimmick, something that would strike terror in the hearts of all humankind. He checked his toad again to find that it was burnt black.

"Yah," he screamed "You can keep your straw!" That's when inspiration struck. What if he turned their gold into straw? That would serve them right. He drank some more from his skin to celebrate his brilliance.

"Hoo," he crowed, "The day is coming when you will fear the name of Rumblesilk...Rumplethiks, Bomblebeeskid, ahh to heck with it."

He took a long drink.

"I'm changing my name to Bob."

I knelt before him, not knowing what to do or what to say. He spoke not one word to me, but his eyes looked directly into mine, making my heart feel as though it was about to stop beating. I kept expecting him to scream at me, or even hit me, but he just continued to stand there, staring at me as though he were looking right into my soul.
“Please, say something,” I asked him, unable to stand the silence. But still, he just stood there, and if it weren’t for the motion of his chest moving in and out with his breathing, I would have thought he was but a statue. The longer he stared at me unspeaking and unmoving, the more it felt as though he were trying to destroy me with his gaze. But just as I was about to beg for him to say something, he finally spoke, and his voice made me tremble.
“Have you any idea what you have done?” he said, his voice sounding calm, yet shaking me to my very core.
“I’m sorry!” I somehow managed to say, for I felt my throat constricting with fear.
“Sorry? You’re sorry?” he repeated, walking around me. “Sorry does not fix what you have done! Only one thing will fix this!” And as his eyes burned into me, I knew exactly what he wanted, and my heart froze in my chest.
“No . . . please, no . . .Anything but that! I beg you!” I pleaded. But he ignored me.
“You know what you must do,” he said. “And you know what will happened if you don’t!”
But even as I cowered before him, I knew that was I had to do was far more terrifying than what would happen if I didn’t.

"It's your turn, Sir. The bet is 4000." the dealer said.

John Kincaid sat there looking at his hole cards, Queen of Spades and Jack of Spades. John squinted through his sunglasses and looked at the board once again. It still showed Ten of Spades, Nine of Hearts, King of Spades and Ten of Hearts.

"I'll raise it to 8000." John said, thrusting his chips into the pot.

The player next to John folded his Seven of clubs and Jack of diamonds, and it went back to John's personal nemesis, Frank Falco.

Frank Falco hadn't lost a Texas Hold 'Em tourney all season long, even at this table, whatever Falco cards were, he won every time.

The last hand, Falco called John's 3000 chip bet with the Seven of Spades and Two of Clubs, and John had pocket Aces. Falco still managed to flop a full house when the Seven of Diamonds, Two of Spades and Two of Diamonds came out. Falco seemingly could not lose.

John waited patiently as Falco checked his cards, shuffled some chips and after a moment of hard thought, re-raised to 16000; putting John all in.

Now John double checked his cards, shuffled his last 8000 in chips. Does Falco have a Ace-high straight draw, a flush draw or even Four of a kind? John shuffled his chips again, looked at Falco. Dang the guy had a great poker face. John checked his cards once more then threw the rest of his chips in, stood up and showed his open-ended straight-flush draw, with the made King-high straight.

Falco turned over the Nine of Spades and the Ten of Diamonds. Now only the Ace of Spades could save John now.

The dealer burned the last card and slowly took the final card off the deck and....

Gordon Smith walked across the yard, the gravel crunching under his weight.
“Knew you’d come.” The General said, as Gordon entered the building. He walked silently to the nearest chair, “You knew he got out yesterday?”
“Yes I did.”
“And you didn’t think to inform me?”
“I knew you’d react like this.” The general folded his tiny, portly hands.
“Why did the Media decide to keep it quiet?” Gordon queried.
“The Media?” The General sniffed, “We had to bribe the media to keep it quiet. I’m surprised it hadn’t been leaked.” He inhaled deeply, “Smith, before you say anything else…I know how you feel about this guy, and really, it’s a free country, I guess you can feel what you like. But...” he sighed, shook his head, before he continued, “We cannot act on a personal grudge.”
Gordon’s expression turned into anger, “Personal Grudge!?” he yelled, “Personal grudge, Shaw?” he asked.
“This man has been convicted, for let me see…” he slid a yellow folder on the table closer to him, and swept it up. Feverishly he began paging through the papers, “Oh…here we go.”
He looked up at General Shaw, cleared his throat and read, “ Mister O’ Connor has been convicted for murdering thirty-seven females, twenty-eight rape charges, fifteen assault charges…Oh and here’s a good one, he ate twelve of his victims. How ‘bout that?” he slammed the file shut, glaring at the General.
“Even worse,” he continued, “Most of them were young girls. So yes, maybe you can call it a grudge,” he gestured with his fingers, “But maybe, just maybe, it’s because they let a psychopath free, who is capable of these things, and I am a bit concerned. People have the right to know what things are roaming the streets…”

This isn’t so much a scene I’ve invented as one I’ve observed. I haven’t been able to “use” it in any practical sense, but it really is too wonderful to waste.

It was summer, a weekend evening full of warmth and light, and I was waiting for a friend in front of a local cheap eatery in the city centre. Being on one of the main streets in the city, a constant throng of people poured past: tourists, people out for the evening, workers starting or ending their shift, no matter their size, shape or colour, they were there. Being a popular area for tourists, with plenty of cheap souvenir shops about, this spot was also a prime area for horse-drawn carriage tours. You know the kind: Clydesdales with feathered plumes, old, fancy carriages and drivers in hats and waistcoats and those fetching leather boots they wear over their trousers, and there happened to be one of these opposite where I was waiting.

I watched the crowd pass, many of them stopping to take photos of the ever-patient horses or stroke their gentle cheeks; I didn’t think twice when a young girl, perhaps eleven years old, broke away from her family to greet the horses. She was a plain, rather unremarkable girl, but unlike others who stopped, she stared at them with a rare intensity and the way she stroked their long muzzles was one of utmost reverence. She brought her face close, staring deep into brown, equine eyes, and I heard her whisper with fierce conviction: “Some day you’ll all be free!”

Not much affects me, but watching this girl, lost in her imagination and her love of these creatures, I was genuinely moved – it was as if I was watching myself as a child.

Introduction to Characters and story:
Jacob died once before but was forced to come back to Earth to pay for his sins
Amber and him were childhood lovers, when they were 6, he gave her a ring he made out of flowers, however, she lost it shortly after.
Jacob now only has seven more days on Earth, this scene tells of the end of his last day…

(Final Scene)

Amber: Can you promise me something Jacob? Promise me… That you'll stay…

Jacob: … Don’t worry, I’ll be here with you, you can hold my hand and make sure I don’t disappear anymore, I promise I won’t let go

(She holds his hand)
(She feels something and flips her hand over)

Amber: What this? A flower ring?

Jacob: Just like the one so many years ago, I can’t afford a real one but..
(Takes the ring and goes down on one knee), this is cliché, but will you marry me?

Amber: Oh Jacob, we could have a proper marriage

Jacob: With flowers

Amber: A flowing bridal gown

Jacob: A beautiful bride …

Amber: (Chuckles) More like a dashing husband!

Jacob: So will you marry me?

Amber: I do.

Jacob: (looks down and laughs) I’m sorry, I know I’ve never said it out straight before, we both know but …

(He looks at her, holding hands, they head for the kiss, spotlight focuses on them)
(Spotlight then focuses on Amber, Jacob moves offstage)
(Amber’s hands droop and she falls towards the ground, she cries, half lying on the floor, clinging to the flower ring)
(Lights off)

Jacob: (As if whispering) I love you…

Jacob lied to her, promising a new future together as he didn’t want to see her hurt. But because of that, he brought the greatest hurt of all he could to her.