The Hazardous Precept

Part 2: The Stranger revealed Stephen Forestall was never cold. Motion, friction, warmth coursed through him constantly. The simplest transfer of force charged his cells with the fuel his altered physiology used to strengthen him. Gravity was just another force, one Stephen had learned to absorb and nullify around his body when he was a teenager. He appeared to float and fly, but flight was a misnomer. Stephen didn’t fly so much as avoid and focus the pull of gravity around him. The by-product of nullifying some degree of gravity's pull was excess thermal energy; transferring so much potential energy into kinetic power meant he was perpetually warm to the touch. The blustery fall winds in the French night sky didn’t faze him. Hovering had been a power stunt he’d mastered after hours of uncontrolled flights and serious impacts with the ground. He’d been lucky that his muscles absorbed and converted most kinetic energy and kept him from experiencing too much physical pain after

Heroes – latest draft – December 28, 2005 (Retyped from the last printed copy after a hard drive crash) Chapter 1: Childhood’s End Part 1: Andre’s Visitor Cold. The yard was cold, dead cold. Andre hated his job. His caretaker duties extended to night patrols and early morning grave visits. Already tonight he’d chased off three pair of amorous teenagers titillated by the concept of making love surrounded by the dead. Children these days didn’t value the old things. The past was nothing more than something they studied in school. Surely Paris was the city of love, but did they honestly have to take the phrase so literally? A loud crack pierced the silence of the October night. A waning moon peeked slowly, lazily from behind wispy clouds. Andre sighed. What foolishness would this be then? Was it more libidinous visitors with a need to challenge the sanctity of his domain? Wicked gang members obsessed by courage rituals? Vandals? Nothing fazed the old man anymore and nothing wo

Found the original hand written version so now I'm rewriting them and entering them into Word.. This is the beginning of the story introduced in Crimson Drought a while back for those wondering.. More as I get it written - I'll place it in small chunks I promise.. ----------------------------- Crimson Rain Chapter 1: Night City Johnny Hazzard was a star. Rising and falling on the love of the underground rock scene. A poet of rebellion. A hero of the counterculture and the object of so many young girls lustful drives. He enjoyed his position in the world. He enjoyed that people would pay him money to get up on stage and sing songs of open rebellion. Johnny knew he was no prophet of change, he’d seen far too much of his slowly decaying world to be ignorant to the people who pulled the strings. His dusty tan complexion, close cropped hair with extended bangs bleached peroxide white in a swoosh contrasting his naturally brown locks. His arm and leg of smooth polished ch