Final Destination by TGFictionStv

This is actually....good....I...I don't know what to say, other than ENJOY!

"You have two minutes left and you have to score seven; three isn't
going to cut it.  You understand?" the coach shouted at his players.

"Loud and clear coach," Jesse, the star quarterback of the team said.

"This is for the championship.  We win this game; it will be part of
school history," the coach reminded them all.

"We'll get that touchdown for sure," Michael, the leading running back
said with a determined expression.

"Remember, once you get the ball you run to the outside and stop the
clock.  No one gets tackled on the field.  If you need to, throw an
incomplete pass to stop the clock," the coach continued.

"Got it coach," Steve, the leading receiver replied.

"Offensive line, protect your man," the coach added.

"We'll give him the time he needs," Frank said.  His fellow offensive
lineman and friend Will pounded his fist.

"Alright, these could be the last plays you have before you graduate.
Make them count!" the couch told them all.

"Break!" the players said and then came onto the field.

The Eagles were a High school football team in a championship game.
Many of the players were depending on this game for their college
futures.  Others hoped they would make a good play and get noticed.
Their opponents, the Wolves were similarly a tough team.

The two teams came to the line of scrimmage and got ready.  Jesse
considered the formation of the other team and thought about the play
he was supposed to play.  "Hike," he shouted.

The center placed the ball in his hand and immediately he looked for a
receiver.  He saw Steve being trailed by a corner to his left.  He
launched the ball back and threw it hard towards Steve.  Jesse waited
in tense anticipation as the ball went through the air. Steve and the
corner looked up as the ball came closer to them.  The ball was
suddenly caught, but it was....the corner.

Steve grabbed the corner but fell to the ground in a failed tackle.
Jesse gave a wide-eyed look as his pass was intercepted.  The corner
ran back along the sides for a potential touchdown the other way.
Frank and Will rushed the corner but were blocked by defensive players.
Frank hit the ground hard and Will slid on the ground and fell upon
being hit.  Michael ran after the corner but tripped and fell to the
ground.  Jesse broke his frozen stare and took action.  He ran after
the corner and dodged a block from a defensive player.  He was faster
than the corner and was nearly on him.  The corner saw Jesse and ran
faster towards the end.  Jesse gained ground and hit the corner.  The
corner went down to his knees but suddenly threw the ball behind him.
Jesse tackled the corner down to the ground but to his horror saw the
defensive player behind them with the ball.  The slow-moving defensive
player took the ball into the Endzone.

The defensive team's school exploded in applause and cheers as the
defensive player showed them the football.  Jesse simply stared in
shock.  Only a minute was left on the clock and they were now down by
twelve.  The only way they could win now is with two touchdowns.  It
would be impossible!  They would lose!

"You okay?" Michael whispered.

Busted: A Tale of Zhor in Rhyme: Part 3

By Christopher Leeson 

Lu's mind, sitting there, started weaving;
Something seemed wrong, no deceiving.
She touched her own bust,
Feeling such poignant lust,
And decided 'twas time to be leaving.

At the exit she met a young stripper,
One with the stage name of 'Skipper."
At the dancing bar door,
In the tight dress she wore,
The lass needed help with a zipper.

After talking the two drank a lot;
Lu paid 'cause she found Skipper hot.
The cop-girl's eyes gleamed,
Was Skip straight, as she seemed?
Lu dearly hoped she was not.

 

Le Sigh

Man, it's been ages since anything good has popped up on any of the usual sites.  Anything that has been good hasn't been finished:(

I don't know, just seems like a genre that gets short shrift in the community.  Alas.  If anyone has ANYTHING they want to upload, let me know.

Busted: A Tale of Zhor in Rhyme: Part 2

By Christopher Leeson 

 

Lulu was slapped with probation
And given a John detail station.
Sent out with a wire 
And garbed hot as fire,
She seethed with mortification.

The whole wardrobe thing was appalling;
Those spike heels were not the most galling.
That first dress, ultra brief,
Brought the girl supreme grief.
She knew she was in the wrong calling.

It wasn't like walking a beat,
Acting the hoe on the street.
But decked out as a trick,
Lip rouge smeared on thick,
No one supposed she was the heat.

Busted: A Tale of Zhor in Rhyme: Part 1

   By Christopher Leeson

Lew Gaff was a cop on the take;
Most hookers kept clear of the snake.
He shook down the crooks, 
Kept his graft off the books,
But one evening he made a mistake.
 
Lew tried to put heat on Zhor spies,
Who looked just like pimps to his eyes.
When Gaff had them nabbed
He got needle-jabbed,
And woke up a girl half his size.

The doctors were all mystified;
Lew responded to nothing they tried.
Upon winning release,
"He" remained the police,
But assumed a false name out of pride.


Those in the the know were quite few,
So she transferred as a gal named "Lulu."
Though her temper was raw,
Cops liked what they saw,
And some got too fresh, as men do.

This girly life gave Lu distress;
Her affairs were an ongoing mess.
She liked it least well
That her figure looked swell.
Her sex one half-blind could guess.

I have heard a few people say they don't know how to post here and contribute.  Okay, here's a step-by-step breakdown!

S1  Sign up for a Google+ account.
S2  Send me your Google+ ID by messaging me through the site or sending an e-mail to vengeance17011980@gmail.com.
S3  I will then e-mail you a link to become a contributor.
S4  Follow the steps outlined in the e-mail.

Bear in mind, I am only pretty sure this is how it works as when I started this site, obviously I did not need to join it since I owned it!

If you find out differently, PLEASE let me know at the e-mail addy above!

The Spellcaster's Heiress -- Chapter 17

 By Christopher Leeson




Epilogue 

FROM DYAN'S JOURNAL

Triumphs pass, songs fade, good friends go their separate ways. 

It was with heavy heart that I parted from my family on the wharf of Nawcant in the kingdom of Sulidir.  Ceann, Gannon, and I had already agreed to journey inland, to a villa within a ride of three hours from the city of Tyary Graig and rejoined Lady Elekta.  Ceann had previously let me know of her desire to leave the Fyana; I supposed that this was her first half-step in that direction.

Of the months since then there is little to tell.

Late spring yields to summer, and summer ultimately assumes the golden crown of autumn.  Cefen M'Glywess, the Lady's husband, had established his family at a comfortable country house.  Here his wife Elekta has been busy for months creating a household out of an empty hall.  Understandably, she has not afforded me a great deal of time for the teaching of magic.  I have books, but their turgid discourses have left me stultified and uninformed.  I have more time in idleness than in study.  And idleness, alas, allows one to contemplate the depth and breadth of  his regrets.

When I think about Harouck, I seethe.  Is he the disease, or is he only the outward sign of a much deeper affliction?  Cawdour had been frank in his observation that the landed lords have been dwindling in both wealth and influence since well before the rise of the usurper.  Likewise, the patriotic yeoman have lost their own status and become debt-ridden, dispossessed, and -- in many cases -- shiftless.
  
It is to the energetic merchants and the burgers that a ruler looks to for support in these decadent days.  At the heart of the old warrior class is tradition, but among these new men tradition is oftentimes a very bad fit.  The old social order relegated them to the rear of the room, and they, perhaps, do not remember their former status kindly.

Those whom Cawdour called “new men” are not all bad, of course.  The M'Glywesses and the Oc'Raighnes, in fact, number among them.  Had I been brought up in the old days I never could have won my knightly spurs.  But where the old aristocracy was dedicated to the commonweal with an intensity that was akin to religion, these new-made men too often look at government as means to a personal end.  They flatter and bribe to win support for their, oftentimes, selfish aims, and those in power do their best to please them. 

The world is in a flux of change, some say, but change has assailed the warrior class like a brutal giant.  There was a time when the soldier quested far and made new discoveries; today it is the merchant, the trader, the sea captain.  The old aristocracy, though they bear the same titles, are not like their ancestors.  What has the scions of old nobility done lately to give credit to their progenitors?  I think of our king, Cathmor, and recognize how far the demoralization has spread. 

I, too, have passed my first summer of my new life in slothful melancholy.  If Chancellor Harouck typifies our future, I will live and I will die in opposition to such man and such a future.  Is there hope?  Sometimes a bush that is sheared off by the axe can return from its deep roots.  Can it be that way, too, with the stout oak which is men's traditions?  If men of worthy motives return to the fight, the battle, ultimately, may still be lost, but is not the worth of a man found in what he attempts, not in what Fate allows him to accomplish?  Failure is the most usual result of all endeavors.  It is easy to do evil; to attain a worthy cause and win immortal fame is difficult.
 
These thoughts are not light to bear and they wear me down.  I will speak of other matters.