Poor baby, you’re not used to being turned down, are you? Gene pulled on his pants and went to the kitchen. Not many would. He busied himself with t...e coffee, and soon heard splashing from the washroom. She’d left the door open again. An invitation, or habit? He wondered. She was humming – he listened carefully – sounded like that old Who song, ‘Behind Blue Eyes’. Presently the coffee began to perk. Cream and sugar, and lots of it, I’ll bet. He checked the fridge. Milk will have to do. Michele. 'Help me! My friends are dying!'Through the boiling haze of rage in her mind, Alana could feel the anger and despair radiating from the dozens of petrified fairies lying on the ground. Forcing herself to become more calm, she could pick out individual thoughts from the morass of emotion surrounding her.'We are of the Murda. The Murda creates us to do his bidding. We feed the Murda the fire of the abominations. One escaped us before, but we vanquish it now. Its fires are consumed to give the. More

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