It was an ordinary morning for Winston F. Harlow and he smiled as he performed his normal routine. He had taken a shower, and was now reading the paper while drinking his coffee. He lived a quiet life. He wasn’t married, and he didn’t have any living relatives. To say that his small apartment was modest was being kind. He didn’t have a TV or a computer, and there was only one picture hanging on the wall. Read more
Tonight was his last performance. The high council didn’t like the storm makers to become very popular with the public. Drantonian was ready for the end, he had expected it to come much sooner. It seems that he had been preparing all of his life for this final show; he had practiced it in his head, over and over, now the time was finally here. Read more