A flood of emotions rushes into me. Pain and anger. Sadness and pity. But most surprising of all, hope.

All you really have... is now.

I've always loved brainstorming with other writers, and I consider having my work critiqued a part of that brainstorming.

I miss video games where the jump-kick was the trickiest combo to master.

I don't know exactly what it is, but it looks like interconnected websites where people show their photos and write about everything going on in their lives, like whether they found a parking spot or what they ate for breakfast." "But why?" Josh asks.

That is all that happened. Why did you hear something else?

Imagine ten or tweleve orange chairs arrainged in a circle, with the happy woen from the flyer sitting at opposite ends. Only problem was, from day one, they weren't happy. Someone, whoever made that flyer, must have digitally turned their frowns upside down. They wrote about death. About the evilness of men. About the destruction of-and I quote- "the greenish, bluish orb with wisps of white." Seriously, that's how they descibed it. They went on to call Earth a knocked-up gaseous alien needing an abortion.