Ostriches and Good Eatin'

by Patrick Hummer

Recently, a new eating craze has overcome Americans: a sort of "other dark meat." The new food is ostrich meat. Americans flock to restaurants to eat these birds.

But this isn't enough for some people, oh no. People have now begun breaking into ostrich farms and are eating the ostriches raw! Sometimes the ostriches aren't enough, so they eat people as well! So now there are restaurants that serve people because we just couldn't get enough at the farms. Remarked one person we interviewed at a cannibalist eating establishments, "Mmmmm....tastes like chicken!"

Yes, what began as a love for ostrich meat has become the slow extinction of the human race.

Shadows of the Balance
The Tales of Dark Damien
Chapter 2

by Elric James Colvill

Damien has many homes; all of them lie in the modern day ruins of the many metropolises of our world. For now, he resides in an aged apartment above a jewelry store that once was frequently robbed by gangs. (Note "once was.")

This night, he rested quietly in a tattered leather recliner. All around Damien were his varying "paperweights," his name for the imprisoned souls of his prey, trapped within glassy prisms. Peace was not to be Damien's this night due to his rather talkative "friend."

"Hey, don't you force me to drink out of the toilet now! Could I at least get some some water over here!" Shadow yowled from the kitchen entry way.

Damien ignored him staring through the cracked living room window into the rainy night. "Get it yourself," Damien said coldly. Shadow ran and leaped onto the dark one's chest and began to shout in his face.

"Hey, wiseguy, you see these," (Shadow lifted up a foreleg to show his paw to Damien)," these are paws...Do you see anything remotely resembling an opposable thumb! I didn't think so!" Shadow ceased his ranting, waiting for Damien's reaction. All that Shadow needed to see were those glowing embers deep in Damien's eye sockets.

"Uh, meow," Shadow whimpered and slunk away. Eventually, Damien rose from his seat and ran the tap for some water for the annoying feline. He filled a small bowl and dropped it on the linoleum.

He stood there waiting for Shadow. Shadow meekly approached the bowl and began to quietly lap up the water. Damien stared at him with blazing eyes and stated, "When you are finished, we will talk." Damien returned to his seat. Shadow finally finished and leapt up on the old sofa beside the dark giant, waiting nervously.

Damien was silent for a moment, building upon Shadow's tension. Then he spoke in a dead tone: "What is your purpose?"

Shadow fidgeted for a moment, then plaintively said, "Uh...I'm your familiar, I guess."

Damien raised an eyebrow: "A familiar? A magically bonded animal who joins a Magus?"

"It's the best word I can think of. Fenara..."

"About this Fenara," Damien interrupted at the woman's name.

"What about me?" cooed a soft feminine voice. At that surprising sound, a shotgun flew into Damien's waiting hand.

She emerged from a dark corner of the sitting room, dressed in forest green robes, the hood pulled back to reveal the alien beauty beneath.

Damien rose from his leather recliner, weapon drawn and pointed at her head.

As Fenara took in the situation, a faint smile, then a genuine grin formed upon her face. With but a thought, the menacing shot gun was plucked from Damien's hands and into her own. Left with emptiness, Damien's hands collapsed into fists which he clenched as frustrated anger burned hotter within.

Calmly, Fenara studied the weapon, noting runes hewn deep into its worn wooden handle. "Impressive, Damien," she said, " An enchanted fire arm. That's new." Daintily, she set it aside on the inn table. Damien's gaze darted to where the shot gun lay. Fenara's condescending look pushed him to think it fruitless to try to grab the gun, though. He sighed and fell into a chair. Damien turned to his tormentor.

Now all his fury found its outlet through his eyes, blazing blood-red, a terror to behold. Still Fenara stood serene against his barrage of bad looks.

"Why have you returned, elf?" Damien hissed.

Fenara's laughter rose like a glass bell's ringing. "I'm glad to see you've kept up on your mythology and your sense of humor," she replied. "Your mystic craft is needed in this planet's time of peril, Magus. You'll come with me, and see your destiny."

Damien began to angrily refuse to follow, to curse the elf, but suddenly he realised there was no choice in the matter as he, Shadow, and Fenara vanished from the known earth...

On Education...

If students are cups to be filled with knowledge, teachers are the jug-pourers. It is impossible for more water to leave the jug than was in it to begin with. Some people seem to think that this is not true, that by adding dirt to the pitcher they increase the amount of moisture inside. A man dying of thirst would be worse off for drinking that mud, though, for then he is poisoned. In the same way, knowing a truth mixed with lies is worse than knowing nothing. Like ice over a pond, it gives the appearance of strength. When you stand on it, however, it gives way.

If the jug-pourer were to miss the thirsty man's glass altogether, then again the thirsty man would be worse off. His glass would remain empty, but he would waste energy over chasing the misguided droplets. If a teacher does not present ideas clearly, then the students will know nothing and be confused instead of just knowing nothing.

A cup with its lid on cannot receive anything. If a student is not paying attention, then the teacher might as well not waste time. The student might as well not pay attention somewhere else.