A game of Scrabble has serious consequences.

A semi-barbaric king devises a semi-barabaric (but entirely fair) method of criminal trial involving two doors, a beautiful lady and a very hungry tiger.

It was Zach's idea to start a Beatles cover band in high school. Zach, you see, was a dead ringer for Paul McCartney.

Doris knew exactly why she'd survived. Like her physicist mother and other members of the scientific, military and political elites, she'd been in an immersion tank when the bombs started falling.

Mother and Daughter had repeated this routine every school day since Jessie was five years old but today was the day Jessie started “Big School” as her mother embarrassingly insisted on telling everyone they had met for the past three months.

Becca laughed and smiled at her brother ruefully. She wished she could go, but something in her heart felt heavy.

We made sure we both got Ms. Meyer’s homeroom class in fourth grade, because according to my older brother, she was the best teacher of the few you could choose.

He steals with swift, simple hands in the yellow Roman sun. The crowds are bulging, swollen, and he bobs amongst them as silent as a jellyfish.

I need air... I need to breathe, or I'll die... Helena coughed uncontrollably, her chest felt like it was on fire, and she kept throwing up salty water.

‘There’s magic on this island,’ said Gran as I stepped off the boat.

He had won tickets in a radio contest. A contest he didn’t apply to, on a station that apparently didn’t exist.

This afternoon’s adventure is just what I’ve been craving. Time alone with the kids. No other adults to compromise with. Andrew is going to stay back and work on the house, and I’m going hiking with my sweeties.

My first great love was Seraina Gadient, the flower girl, as we called her then. I had just turned fifteen when I realized with horror that I had a massive crush on her.

On April 3rd, 2019, I embarked on the longest walk known to the human race. This walk wasn’t measured by miles or steps, but by psychological trauma.

“Bailey Smith, if you can’t take defeat nicely, you shouldn’t play at all. You need to just enjoy the experience of playing. It doesn’t matter if you win or lose, at least not as much as you think.”

It was him all right. Who else could it possibly be? It was Death himself, the Grim Reaper, cloaked all in black. He stood larger than life.

He felt it, this time. This would be different. On the screen was the registration form for Raijin Karate.

Oscar watched his housemate Philippa’s fingers move in staccato beats over the keys, each note prodded from the piano like a confession. All the same, he sang along.

He was The Mouse. He wasn’t Mouse. That would have been a kind nickname. The Mouse was named in one of his many foster homes by one of his many not so nice foster brothers.

When Max was killed and buried and a shallow grave, he thought his troubles would be over. He was wrong. He’s just realized he’s a vampire, and he sucks at it.