A Select Party
Publication Language |
English |
---|---|
Publication Type |
eBooks |
Publication License Type |
Open Access |
Categories: Books, Open Access Books
Tag: Short Stories
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After Some Tomorrow
POWER!Perhaps the rarest gift in the world is that ability to read the future, to know what will happen to a person, a group, even a country, and when it will happen!EXTRASENSORY PERCEPTIONThe year is some indeterminate time in the future; Mickey Grant and Anna Enesco are involved in special studies for people who have shown extraordinary ESP talent. Their progress is as frightening as it is incredible. But when our government sends them on missions that become increasingly dangerous and difficult, are their lives the price of their special pre-knowledge?
Am I Still There?
Lee slid off the examining table and began buttoning his shirt. He had had a medical examination every six months of his adult life, and it always seemed strange to him that, despite the banks of machines the doctor had which could practically map a man from a single cell outward, each examination always entailed the cold end of a stethoscope against his chest.He tucked his shirt into his pants and turned to the examining doctor who was writing on a chart."Well?" Lee asked him."Sound as a dollar," replied the doctor. "Of course Dr. Flotman or Dr. Roberts might turn up something on their electronic monsters, but I see no reason why we can't go ahead on schedule."
Ann Arbor Tales
Florence affected low candle-lights, glowing through softly tinted shades, of pale-green, blue, old-rose, pink; for such low lights set each coiled tress of her golden hair a-dancing?and Florence knew this. The hangings in the little round room where she received her guests were deeper than the shades, and the tapestry of the semi-circular window-seat was red. It was in the arc of this that Florence was wont to sit?the star amidst her satellites.It was one's privilege to smoke in the little room, and somehow the odor of the burned tobacco did not get into the draperies; nor filter through the porti?res into the hall beyond; and the air of the boudoir was always cool and fresh and sweet.Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday?every night?and Sunday most of all?there were loungers on that window-seat, their faces half in shadow. It was hard at such times to take one's eyes off Florence, sitting in the arc, the soft light of old-rose moving across her cheek, creeping around her white throat, leaping in her twisted hair, quivering in her blue, soft eyes.When she smiled, one thought in verse?if one were that sort?or, perhaps, muttered, "Gad!" shiveringly under the breath. Well may you?or I?shake our heads now and smile, albeit a bit sadly; but then it was different. We have learned much, too much perhaps, and the once keen edge of joy is dulled. But then we were young. Youth was our inheritance and we spent it, flung it away, you say, as we knelt before the Shrine of Beauty set up in a little round room where low lights glimmered among deep shaded draperies.