The last word was down. The article was written. He looked at the clock. He had time. The editing shouldn’t take too long.
He went into the kitchen and got himself a cup of coffee. The coffee maker fell over.
-Damn! He got a cloth and wiped it up. He could feel something breath him in the neck. He turned around. There was nothing there.
He put another coffee on, and waited. He felt it again. The breathing. He looked at the clock. The deadline was getting closer.
You won’t make it…
He turned around again…
Monson! Look a this!
Monson walked over to the screen connected to the main telescope. An image of Venus was showing.
-It’s Venus. What about it?
-Look! Carl changed the image to the temperature visuals, zoomed a bit in.
-That’s strange… Monson zoomed in a bit more. There seemed to be new volcanic activity all over the northern hemisphere.
-Keep an eye on it. I’ll go… The phone called. Monson picked it up. -Aha. Really? On Mars too? That’s truly… (more)
On a treetop in the country side the crows had gathered. All the clans in the area was represented. They had come from the hills, from the oat fields, from the city. Once there had been only one clan, living by the same rules, the same way. Now only the hill clans kept the ways of the old.
Their ways were threatened.
-The destruction by the Handed Ones have reached the limits of the Hill Crows’ territory. The trees are dying. Our prey are more and more scarce.
-We live off the Handed Ones, Blue said. He was the spokesman of the Scavengers, one of the city clans. – You are welcome to come to the city, but I must warn you. It’s not a good way of life. What seemed to be a never ending source of food and resources have turned out to be the doom of our ways, our dignity. Disease is flourishing, rats are ravaging our nests… (more)
An oil company has found oil in the Cameroon wilderness. A tribe is living there, and the company decides to…
Lefr Eiriksson goes on a expedition far out into the sea. The storm rises, and the serpent of Midgard appears…
He took a long look in the mirror, got the next stroke on. It was perfect. Slowly the self portrait was taking form. It looked more alive than anything he’d ever painted before, anything he’d ever seen. Every new stroke made it better, every next step made it more real.
He studied every little detail in the mirror, every little colour, every last wrinkle, every shadow. It looked real. More than real. More real than…