Januzai The Red Void ‘I’ll show you fear in a handful of dust’ Her black dust stained boots swung into the air and over her horse’s slumped back before colliding with the earth, rising dirt and dust a foot into the desert air before falling again, unsettled from it’s slumber. Her dark green eyes squinted and surveyed the reddish brown horizon. Her right hand slowly felt it’s way towards her hip before resting on her holster. Her left hand hung still and alert. Her horse shook itself from dusty neck to dusty tail, quickly shushed by her dry tongue. Her stomach rumbled and her bones cracked but were shushed just like the horse. Her silence. This land was known as The Dust. This was not friendly territory. #life was extinguished here along time ago. Not even micro-organisms could find breadth and so even the ground was sterile and, when the earth shook, it was the only moving thing. Except Wanderers. They were awful destructive little creatures that crawled into this territory out of blank stupidity and got lost. Outside the territory they were perfectly amiable harmless critters, albeit with no sense of direction. But once they got lost in The Dust, necessity quickly and cruelly transformed them into desperate flesh hungry beasts. They’re only way to survive was to, if they got lucky, find an under protected cargo convoy or, if even luckier, find a lone silhouette cautiously making it’s way across the red void. These creatures were usually around four foot high and, fortunately for our hero, they’re long sea blue fur made them easily spotted across the red flat floor. They’re agile four legs, however, gave you a limited time between identifying a blue hide in the distance and angry teeth up close. So those dark green eyes took their sweet time scanning for any hostilities.

The Borderless Part 2 He dropped the briefcase with a thud on the dark red carpet that greeted him in his hallway. He dropped his shoulders with a sigh, loosened his muscles as if about to enter a jacuzzi, and started to walk towards the warm smell of cooked meat. The hallway was a muddled collection of sounds. The muffled sounds of a carton emanating from the tv, the heavy metal music thundering from a bedroom above and a sizzling pan from a steamy kitchen all congealed in this shifting pool of noise. He entered the kitchen to see the image of his now plump bride leaning over a sizzling pan, carefully inspecting the browning steak as if it had been her first time to cook. A young slender girl slightly over average height had now been shrunk and widened to a middle aged woman just under. A process which took years seemed to only hit her husbands consciousness now. Nevertheless he carried on with the well known tradition and proceeded to ask the small necessary questions that were the subtle pieces of adhesive that kept their marriage bonded. 'How was your day?', 'how are the kids?' and 'how are you?' were the essential ones which he labored every evening to come up with a different way of asking and then, an even harder task, to listen while she gave her often long branching answers and respond appropriately. To him it was all method and to hide this from her, to give it a tinge of originality or even romance, he needed to change and morph each question into something new. But for him it was a mechanical process he had long given up on. He needed to escape.

Tots Awks Awks!' she said and looks down, fondles with her red scarf for a moment and looks back at me. Rolled her eyes, flung her auburn hair back and cursed. Then giving up she turned and walked away. 'Awks!', I thought to myself, 'Awks isn't a word!' and began to ponder why we ever shared the same bed.

The Borderless Part 1 The gentle hum of the engine, smooth jazz notes seeping through the radio speakers and fellow cars floating by him and then back again on the unchanging grey of the freeway construed an atmosphere of sedated peace. But the suited man with two pale hands at the wheel was an island of torment in this tranquil sea. To him the weight of tension on his mind and shoulders was nameless. He had bought and sold to a profit throughout the eight hours. His commission was as good as any other day, his wife, his kids waiting at home but still his shoulders were tight and his soul tossed and turned. What was tying him in tension and what denied him his happiness?

Give Guns A Chance All we are saying is give guns a chance. If every man and boy had a gun (not every woman or girl obviously; they're too volatile) then all our testicles would be safe. Our manhood would be unbreachable and we could keep our plot of land and eat out our blood soaked meat and it would never run out cos we'd ave our guns and as every school kid knows to those who hold a gun will never have any evil done to them. Yeeeea! Guns, glorious guns!