My name is Pablo. If I told you my real name you would remember me as a child. My parents were very famous; you might have watched their funeral service on television last week as I did. Of course I wanted to go to the services; I loved my parents very much. Very much indeed. The problem you see is that I cannot leave my apartment. I have not left my apartment for any reason for over fifteen years.

I do not know why, not really but I do know the thought of walking out my door, leaving the sanctuary of my four walls and entering the filth and despair that is the outside world leaves me terrified to the point of paralysis. I wish it were not true but it is maybe the only true thing about me. My neighbors think I am crazy, that I am hiding from the world. Crazy? No, I am not crazy, I hide from nothing! I simply choose not to participate in madness.

    Hotel workers say farewell to each other for the night only to find themselves re-united at the bus stop. There was a time when this exchange was awkward,  but the employees eventually found ways to smooth out the interaction. For Aramis, his solution was clear. He would leave work fifteen minutes later than his co-workers so that he could have a comfortable m101 bus all to himself. This solution meant venturing down Park Avenue by himself 12:25am, a street soundtracked by anonymous screams. For Aramis, being free of his fellow  co-workers who just spent the bus ride complaining about the next day of work, the crosstown had to be a peaceful ride.

    In due time, I heard through the scuttlebutt word of a most amazing creature.  An Indian Goddess.  With iridescent beauty holding forth, standing proud, high atop a lush green hilltop in Armuelles.  Our destination!  And this Goddess’s name was Estrella.
    Estrella.

    So this was what it was all about: Estrella.  They spoke of her with reverence.  Beauty untouchable.  Estrella’s light feminine mannerisms captivate.  A ray of hope shines from above with the mention of this Goddess.  Genuine seven crowned Chiriqui.  Her dimensions consummate apparition like karat fixates diamond.  Blamless vitality shifts through spectrum.  Bizarre shades of night.  The earth created for her amusement; water conceived so she might have somewhere to walk.  Well formed bare feet, exquisite in their arch.  She moves through dreams.  And upon them.  Every ethereal grace rewards those touched by Estrella.

Chapter 1

The file containing reports of two recent tiger attacks sat on Sasha’s lap. One from Indonesia and the other from Nepal. The reports were slipped in with his mission plans from the Department of the Environment. As one of only three Rangers in the Russian Far East, he could identify with the rangers in other regions of the world, tracking tigers, trying to protect both the animals and the people with whom they shared the land

The cabin was rudimentary at best. A fireplace, a stack of logs belt high, two chairs and a small table. One window. No running water, no electricity and no outhouse. A smile crossed his face as he untied his boots. The lack of amenities did not bother him. He considered himself an outdoorsman. He massaged the instep of first one foot and then the other until the sensation returned. Moving the chair closer to the fire so that his feet were only a few inches from the screen separating the fire from the rest of the cabin, he twisted his neck until it cracked and then rolled his shoulders to loosen his spine. This is what they had taught him years ago when training to be a ranger. “Helps the blood circulate after a long day spent outside in freezing temperatures.” He continued to smile, eyes closed.

    Timothy John had two first names. They were easily interchangeable, the first from the last, but most of the time this only occurred at doctor appointments. The nurse would slide open the door and announce, “John Timothy?” and Tim would get up, knowing who she meant. He’d gotten so used to being called by his last name first and his first name last, that he no longer bothered correcting people. Even though he lacked the creative ability to think this on his own, the names acted as different aliases he could reveal to different people. Not that he went around introducing himself as ‘John,’ but more metaphorically speaking, he could be one way to some and another to others, but the bulk always in question was this thing called Tim that existed not independently, but only within the fluttering impressions of others. 

The time between meeting and finally leaving is sometimes called falling in love.
By Christine M. Biereth

Let me tell you a little vacation story before I forget. Before I let wishful thinking and selective memory paint a picture that never was.

I met a boy. The moment I saw him I knew I liked him. He bought me a beer. I bought him one back. We talked.  We laughed a lot-we laughed till my stomach hurt, man had I missed laughing.

All a long, while sitting there next to him, I didn’t want it to end. Then, I had to go. I was almost late for the last train. He took my hand and we ran through London. I kept wishing we wouldn’t make it- we made it.
On the train ride home I couldn’t stop smiling; had I really kissed him?! Made my self forget- what’s the purpose of butterflies when I was never to see him again.

Whether you agree or disagree with the suggested ban of the "N" word by Reverend Jesse Jackson, Author Kevin M. Weeks made a conscience decision not to use the "N" word in his Urban Fiction novels in 2002, before he put pen to paper. His novel is a vivid representation of what the street life is about without the negative connotation of the "N" word, which has caused so much controversy since the Michael Richards' comedy routine at the Laugh Factory nightclub in West Hollywood on November 17, 2006. Many people will be surprised at how Kevin M. Weeks keeps readers engaged in the story, yet gives them the undiluted reality of urban life.

In an increasingly popular "underground" movement by active members of the YouTube video community, a collaborative plotline has emerged that depicts Google and YouTube conspiring for media domination. The story, "The GooTube Conspiracy," began when one YouTube user posted a video claiming he was kidnapped by YouTube founders Chad Hurley and Steve Chen. Other YouTube creators began submitting unsolicited videos that developed the conspiracy story. Most of the creators have never worked together or even met each other.