“Twitter provides us with a wonderful platform to discuss/confront societal problems. We trend Justin Bieber instead.” - Lauren Leto, writer, as well as creator and co-founder of Texts From Last Night website

Pulling out the bottle, he noted curiously that the back of his hand was ashen gray from the sweat he had just wiped from his brow. His mind struggled at the 'why' of this, but the reason slowly slipped away, drifting into a background of murky thoughts.

Mason's mind was starting to cloud again, but many things still remained clear. His name was Mason Brown, he was a nanobiologist, and he was a prisoner. He also knew that the treatment in his pack would help him remember. Remove the fog clouding his mind.

Conan grumbled out of his nap, disturbed by a presence in his stable, and woke up to a face mere inches from his own. He swallowed a startled shout, and in its place put on what he imagined was a seething glare. In his half-asleep stupor, it resulted in more of a moist squint.

The face didn't respond as he had hoped, which would have been backing off and leaving him to his slumber; instead, its features pulled into a smile that reached deep into Conan's hindbrain and tripped all of the alarms. A foreboding crept over him, as if he were a mouse who had just met his new neighbor, the cat.

He, was lean, buffed and clean shaven; and he was always cloaked in a fine tan that blended well with his beaming brown eyes. His thrice-broken nose took a few curves on the way to its tip but ended up fairly plumb. But it was his mouth that you noticed first, simply because he was one of those sunny sons of bitches who is always smiling. And, as a logical consequence of this inflated good humor, he was either whistling or belting out a number on just about any occasion and for no special reason; sometimes he didn’t even realize that he was with whistle or song.

How much longer will it take until I go insane? Better yet, what will be the last straw that will push me over the edge? Will it be the constant ‘disciplining’ techniques that the Ring Leader uses on us all? Or will it be the screams of the suffering and already insane performers of the circus? No, the one thing that might seriously push me over the edge is the damn clicking of the train as it rides over the rails. It might not seem much to normal people, but to us, so much more lies behind this one simple and consistent noise.

The Ascension Parade was a tradition that occurred in the kingdom of Atrillia whenever someone ascended to the throne. When the King had died of age ten nights past, the seal was broken from the Scroll of the Will of the King. Thus it was revealed, with no surprise to anyone, that Princess Raya Bannon of Atrillia, grand daughter of the late King Vice Bannon, would succeed her grandfather to the throne and rule all of Atrillia as long as she may live.

Until that day, V hadn’t seen Aida for nearly two years, let alone those few glimpses from a distance she scrounged. Now this accidental encounter in a café let V. to enjoy the sight of her without being compromised. Aida was there, in all her beauty, not having changed a bit since their last meeting. She carelessly chatted with her friends, unusually relaxed and joyful. The sound of Aida's laugh reaching V’s ear had the Jericho trumpets effect, making the walls within collapse one by one. As time passed, all V could do was trying to absorb as much of Aida's voice as possible, to make the time still, so that she could recreate this perfect moment in her memory for the years to come.