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There is a certain type of reality distortion field that these stories won't exactly share, but maybe almost.The airship was made of spider silk, and held aloft by prayer.Surely once on board the train cars, the rest would be easy. We played at plans, marking routes across maps that no longer mattered. He often sat for hours on end contemplating the intricate geometric expansions and contractions in the freshly baked loaves fresh from the hearth. They tasted dry and gummy and stuck to the liberal spaces between his young incisors. Not with these strangers wailing about God and Jesus and their mothers. " after stabbing another Wikipedia article in his usual overly-enthusiastic way.It was a matter of convincing ourselves that there were no other options. Not with the nose of the plane doing six hundred miles per hour towards a cornfield in some godforsaken Midwestern plain. Albe then watched Tic push the article off the sharp end of his poker into the bag.Christina drew her first map at age five, nubby red crayon in her fist.She thrust the sheet into her grandmother's lap, warring for attention against four squalling cousins. " asked her grandmother, her smooth, ripe lips pursing in a frown.
The problem with seeing the future is that you can do nothing to change it.
Bishop Oyen wished that often, as he scanned the featureless ocean. Specifically the love that develops between a man, Ernest, and a woman, Bruce.
Ernest identifies himself as definitely straight, but his physiological responses could be classified as 73% straight.
Monks had labored a thousand years to build it, directed by prophets who foretold the end of their world. For what purpose could there be in building an airship, if nothing lay beyond the ocean?
If only the prophets had said how long the journey would take.