Their voices rose and faded as they reviewed and discussed the enormous fragmented mechanical skeleton spread across the tables.
They wrote of eggs of all kinds and all colors and all sizes. Eggs with the image of telling love stories on a summer moonlit night…
Lynn bolted down the driftwood steps to the garage. Her least favorite sister, Elspeth, was lying under her raised water-scooter, scraping mussels and barnacles from the panzer-glass hull.
He picked up one of the hundred seed plugs and mimed licking it. The plugs of dirt and seeds did resemble black ice cream cones…
…we will dive the waters covering the Lost World of Disney, a place people went to give their children synthetic fun and for the parents to stand in long lines assessing potential couplings with others in the same line.
The tundra-special foam fungus which had taken up most of it for this last crop rotation had grown into an extremely weird shape.
A chunk of something solid whipped out of the brown and black vortex and speared straight at the windshield. In the instant before contact, Javier saw that it was part of a tree.
Sometimes it was easier to know a person from their allotment than from their appearance, she considered.
He had a theory that mothskins could learn from the culatraciae: the way they lived over water, their willingness to build rafts (out of their own bodies!), their selfless respect for the greater good.
But this day, Dona Gardênia’s gaze was nowhere in particular. First she dropped her pole, and then she fainted.