License to Write

Ryan threw the smooth stone into the black river. A breeze tousled his hair, and the faint sounds of a band playing across the river drifted between the falling leaves. Ryan suppressed a shiver to reject the ideas of him being cold or needing to go back to the apartment to ask Sandra to let him in to get his jacket. She would have let him in, of course, but the idea of asking her for anything made him sick. Ryan slammed his fist into the soft, brown dirt which looked black in the dark of the night. The lamp posts lining the sidewalk caused his elongated shadow which reached towards the river to react more dramatically than the action had been. Shadows have a tendency to do that - make things look more intense, sometimes even more raw than they truly are. Pushing himself up onto his feet, Ryan hocked up some spit and sent it flying into the river. He didn't allow himself to watch the ripples reach their extent. He hadn't the time. Pushing the library's revolving glass do

Franz almost sliced his finger again as he sped through chopping the rare sausage that had been purchased today by his master. He quickly flipped the sweet smelling meats into a frying pan along with some of his favorite spices. Although Franz was usually a silent chap, today he could barely contain his desire to whistle a happy tune. The sausage had a secret meaning to Franz. You see, Franz had a friend who lived outside the estate. This friend had made a promise to Franz during one of their many talks which were held between Franz's window and the rooftop of the nearby building some five feet away. His friend, Lilya, had promised that she could get him out of his master's control within a fortnight if he wanted her to do so. Franz, always the skeptic, hadn't believed her. He had demanded a demonstration of her power. Lilya asked what the master would never buy at the market. What could she use as proof that she could make him do whatever she pleased? Thus the sausage