Ginger drafts...

Whenever someone asked him what he would do if it was his last night on the Earth he said he would sit and chew his tongue. Of course a reasonable answer would have been to either play loud music or make passionate love to a woman, but he somehow found it inconsistent with his own intellectual curiosities, to be trapped in something so real as drinking costly wine for example. He thought he would spend his time mulling. The prospect of last night affected him deeply. Unlike for many, it was not the night to fritter away. To know that tomorrow does not exist, to know that it was the last night did not rearrange priorities in his mind as it did to his friends and relatives. The apocalypse was announced and pretty soon the last night was upon the planet. He tried, as he imagined he would, to sit and mull, to do nothing more than introspect, to pursue a cosmic dimension of some sort. But he was not alone. There she was, the sexy receptionist he hired only last week. They had to

Major wolf prodded his clawed grimy nail into the console and regally laid back on his plush leather lounge. He lifted himself a little for the leather made a chugging noise as he slid on it. The overhead panel made a noise that was akin to what you hear issuing from a tap (back on planet earth) before water makes its long journey through the pipes and burbles out in the vent. The hot-iron red of the panel glow bothered major so he held his hand up. But this was not going to work. So he reached for the console and pinched a knob clockwise. The red light dimmed and now the inside of his cockpit had the look of a womb so much so that major wolf went to sleep right away. A crackle woke him up. What was it? He looked about him. Major wolf was not the type you woke up in the middle of a dream. He noticed the green agleam on the speaker so he roused himself from the leather lounge and paddled in a daze toward the crackle and making a good fist, thumped on the instrument. The crac

Shravani wiped her mouth and swabbed her blood-drib lips with the sleeve of her lemon-green blouse. Above her, a garish noon was swept aside by a rather fat cloud, silver-fringed and wan-brown. She leaned back on the heels of her shoes that were scuffed and unbuckled. She kicked the shoes clean and looked about her for a pair of better shoes. Among the tufts of green, she found a set of teeth, gluey and dripping blood. Following the rope of blood interspersed with pressed clumps of grass, her eyes wandered about and settled on what looked like a straw-stuffed scarecrow.  Her ears caught the sound of the roaring buzz of bees; she instantly dropped to her knees and now dragged herself to a shelter, by the mound of mud, prepared to dig into it with bare hands if that is what it took. The bees, like a swishing curtain came at her; now the sound fuller and final… She was seized. An arm, a fat grizzle-haired arm was clasped around her forearm. The bees made the tintinnabulating s