him

Swallowing, he entered the second code. Then there was a sound like a marble dropping on the floor - bouncing slowly, gradually getting faster as it dropped lower and lower_ The thing was toying with him! Where was it? He strained his hearing, but all was again silent. He wanted to shout and scream obscenities at it, but he fought the impulse. It might not really know his location after all - and that would've led it right to him. It must be coming for him! It must be by the door by now, looking for a way in. Time was running out. He hastily keyed in the third and last code.Death the destroyer never is late!

All that mattered was him looking at me

This was his first trip on the Ossifar Distana, his first real splash in life. Look what it got him. Mister Smiff liked anonymity. He kept a low profile, often traveling under assumed names, claiming to be anything from a banker to a (very) successful life insurance salesman. He__ never broken the law, at least not irreparably. He was quite generous, well liked, sponsoring many charities anonymously _ which is why it was so surprising to find him floating face down in the private spa in his apartment, murdered. He had been murdered, unless it was a freak shaving accident. Those old razors weren__ called cut-throats for nothing. Yikes.

I miss the smell of him. I miss his lips and his strong arms. I miss him.

If you want to find something with an equation, you must start thinking like a person who have it.

For when Iwaltzed with Chris, I'd made him someone else.

The last week hadn__ been any better, come to think of it. On Monday they arrived at Gorda, just to find that the cargo of electronics he was to ship to Beowulf had been taken by another freighter for a lower fee. It took him until Wednesday before he found another cargo _ which had to reach Earth by Saturday. The last straw was when his crew mutinied a day out of the Hermes system and demanded a pay increase. The union tended to call that sort of thing __ollective bargaining_, not actually mutiny, but hey _ the results are the same. He tended to favor the term __iracy_, but this wasn__ the high seas and out here, there were real pirates to worry about. His former crew had also wanted more time off and a better cook _ at least one who knew how which end of a frying pan to hold. He was unable to comply, and so was forced to stop at Beowulf anyway. That was the last time he saw them. Fortunately for him, Weaver, Fuller and Jang opted to stay with him. Whether it was out of loyalty, or perhaps just convenience, he never knew.

My father used to say that stupid people think. (I really don't agree with him!)

When you view yourself through the lens of God__ Word, you will better understand God__ love for you and the worth you have in His eyes.

His eyes reflected the open grey of the autumnal sky.

Time did exist here, in small amounts (well some of the time) _ and there were feint eddies and currents of time here, things that were barely tangible. Feint forces of the universe they were, nearly indiscernible from the nothingness like a warm breeze on a hot summer night. How long he had been here, he knew not _ but he was slowly learning to master these barely tangible waves like a new surfer with one foot on the sandy beach and the other on a shiny new board of Hatred. Revenge splashed around his feet like the cold waves of the ocean of Time. Nearby, two other inmates collided with each other, bounced apart spread-eagled and spiraled off into the distance in infinite slowness. The Wetsuit of Insanity clung to his spiritual body, isolating him from the timelessness that seemed to exist here. A wind of Change blew at him from behind and he pushed off from the beach with iron determination and a mental clarity hereto before unknown to him. Something in the microcosm that didn__ even have a name went __ling_ and against all the laws of probability, Brad Xyl opened his eyes.

It made her want to stand up next to him and fight. Fight to stay alive long enough to live out her life next to him. Fight for the only thing she knew that was good enough, noble enough, powerful enough to be, worth risking everything.Love.

Joe!_ he groaned, attempting to speak clearly. __oe! Good ol_ Joe!___aptain, you__e drunk!_ Lofflin said, stating the obvious while trying to keep his voice level. Blaine grinned at him lopsidedly and giggled, almost choking. He slapped the table, knocking his empty glass over.__e-ss, I am! Don__ ssup-pose you _ think I co-uld ssit here an_ calmly wait t__ie _ dýou? Weee-ll, not ssob-er anyway. Ha ha ha.__isgust and hopelessness were swelling inside him. He felt like punching that drunken face till it was either sober or unconscious.__amn it, Captain! We need you _ the crew needs you! You__e turning your back on them _ in our most desperate time!

In God's economy, you may even harvest a crop in places where you didn't plant seed. When you're generous, you will be blessed, whether it comes to you materially, spiritually, emotionally, relationally, or some other way. God obviously cares much more about what happens in our hearts than what happens in our bank accounts, more about our attitudes than our credit scores. Giving generously changes you. It frees you up, undermines the power that money and possessions can have over you, and it makes you more like Him.

And as you come to know Him, you're becoming like Him. The more you are like Him, the more different you will be.

Now he sat alone; on a disabled starship about fifty years from anywhere on conversion drive _ assuming he still had that. Insurance was a good thing _ a very good thing - but it wasn__ going to help him much out here. The highlight of his afternoon was going to be staring at the blinking bridge instrumentation _ which just happened to be running on the emergency batteries and actually blinking, like for real. Moreover, since his mutinous crew had made off with the Short Shit, the ships only shuttle, he was facing quite a problem

This was his first trip on the Ossifar Distana, his first real splash in life. Look what it got him. Mister Smiff liked anonymity. He kept a low profile, often traveling under assumed names, claiming to be anything from a banker to a (very) successful life insurance salesman. Heâ__d never broken the law, at least not irreparably. He was quite generous, well liked, sponsoring many charities anonymously â_ which is why it was so surprising to find him floating face down in the private spa in his apartment, murdered. He had been murdered, unless it was a freak shaving accident. Those old razors werenâ__t called cut-throats for nothing. Yikes.

Let Death Bless Me With You