Najnovšie - Beletria - ostatné strana 33 z 65

Fejős Éva karácsonyi novellájának hősnője, Sziszi éppen új életet kezd, miközben bevitorlázott az úgynevezett „életközepi válságba”. Korábban biztos kapaszkodói voltak, és a jégen minden bizonytalansága elszállt, azonban most újrakezdőként az életben és a kapcsolatokban is el kell igazodnia. Ha nem jönne a karácsony, el sem vállalta volna a marketinges munkát a családias játékáruházban... „– Nincs mit bevallanom, Sziszi. Te voltál Európa legjobb műkorcsolyázója. De megkockáztatom, hogy a világ legjobbja is, igen. Pont csúcsformában voltál, és nem, ne nézz így rám, magasról tojok a tini versenyzőkre. Te érett, gyönyörű mozgású műkorcsolyázó voltál, és a négyfordulatos toe loopod a világ legjobbja.– Anyu – kóstolok bele az elém tett fasírtba –, ez már a múlt.– És tudod, miért fáj ez nekem? – kérdezi. Hogy a fenébe ne tudnám. A saját álmait bennem akarta viszontlátni, és a három Eb-érmemmel, a két olimpiai bronzzal és a világbajnoki ezüsttel már engem látott az összes dobogó legfelső fokán. Én voltam az ügyeletes üdvöske. Szép szőke loknikkal, rózsaszín rúzzsal, hófehér fogakkal és a világ legbájosabb mosolyával. Belül meg egy háborúzós pasilélekkel. Sosem felejtem el, amikor Ivanovát, az egyik legnagyobb ellenfelemet megtéptem.”

Koutarou and company are left reeling in the wake of Ralgwin’s mysterious disappearance, but he isn’t the only cause for concern anymore. Maki receives an invitation from Rainbow Heart, which brings the whole group to Folsaria. All seems well at first, but intrigue and danger are brewing under the surface in the supposedly peaceful land of magic. An old enemy rears his head after ages, renewing a fight that Koutarou hopes to settle once and for all. Will he be able to claim a definitive victory this time with the girls’ help?

Five years, countless stories, endless wonder. The Briar Archive: Volume 1 is the Briarverse completionist’s dream. Relive the one-of-a-kind interactive saga with a digital boxed set that includes Ackerly Green’s Guide to MAGIQ and every story from the first five years of The Briar Archive: The Monarch Papers: Flora & FaunaThe Monarch Papers: Cosmos & TimeAckerly Green’s Secret SocietyThe Search for MagiqThe Book of Briars

First came the time-storm, which erased half the population. Then came the Dinosaur Apocalypse …   How did it all begin? Well, that depends on where you were and who you ask. In some places it started with the weather—which quickly became unstable and began behaving in impossible ways. In still others it started with the lights in the sky, which shifted and pulsed and could not be explained. Elsewhere it started with the disappearances: one here, a few there, but increasing in occurrence until fully three quarters of the population had vanished. Either way, there is one thing on which everyone agrees—it didn't take long for the prehistoric flora and fauna to start showing up (often appearing right where someone was standing, in which case the two were fused, spliced, amalgamated). It didn't take long for the great Time-displacement called the Flashback—which was brief but had aftershocks, like an earthquake—to change the face of the earth. Nor for the stories, some long and others short, some from before the maelstrom (and resulting societal collapse) and others after, to be recorded.   Welcome to the Lost Country.   From "The Devil's Triangle": There were six of them, as I said—all of whom rushed us the instant our feet touched the ground. All of whom snarled and charged us like wolverines as we raised our weapons and fired—the flare gun cracking and hissing, blanching the scarlet haze (for the sun had painted everything red and gold), its projectile punching through one of the raptors’ chests and lighting it up so that its ribs were backlit briefly and I could see, if only for an instant, its burning, beating heart. Yet still they came, another one leaping at me even as I dropped the gun—which clattered against the planks—as I dropped it and grabbed the thing by its neck—then brought the knife down with my other hand and stabbed it between the eyes. “Run!” I shouted, even as Amanda shot another—her second—and then bolted toward the shore, drawing the others so that I was able to snatch up the flare gun and quickly reload it; so that I was able to pursue them and to shoot one in the back—while Amanda turned and took out the last of them (shooting it in the head so that the back of its skull exploded like a spaghetti dinner thrown against the wall; so that it collapsed, writhing, about 10 feet in front of her—whereupon she quickly approached it and shot it again, just to be sure). And then she looked at me (as the dead and dying animals lay all around us) and I looked back: our chests heaving; our faces covered in sweat, our worn clothes bloody and disheveled, and I knew that she knew—which was that today we were the predators, the thing needing to be feared—the killers. And that neither of us needed to worry; not about food or other predators or mysterious lights in the sky or anything. Because we were the masters of our fate, we and no one else, not even God. And we were the master of the world’s fate, too. At which she ran to me and we collided and I held her fast, there on the long jetty in the Atlantic Ocean (in the Bermuda Triangle), there beneath a day moon and the blood-red sky, in an instant in which it was good, so very good, not to be afraid, not to be alone. And as to what may or may not have happened in those breaths, those pulse points between that moment and the next—the next day, the next search, the next milestone; as to that, I offer only a quote from Gandhi: “Speak only if it improves upon the silence.”

The book begins with a short narration of current packaging practices followed by present day horticulture industry. After pointing out the disadvantages of some of the current practices, the author categorically states that we do not need to religiously follow traditional packaging practices if we are serious about curtailing the supply chain loss of fruits and vegetables. The author goes on listing out various types of packaging materials that are available today before addressing the major theme of the book, i.e. ‘Modern Innovations in Packaging Materials and Packaging Technologies’. MAP films, MIP films and active and intelligent packing materials are described in detail under this topic. Manufacturing process of polymer-based packing materials is also described for the better understanding of the reader. The author then elaborates on how to select a suitable packing material for your horticultural produce. Major two parameters that are to be considered are packing material properties and product-specific properties. The author makes a reference of various packaging designs and packaging standards also for those who are interested in these topics. According to the author advanced packaging technologies such as modified atmosphere packaging, modified interactive packaging, active and intelligent packaging, TBG technology and packaging technology for microwaveable containers are going to make a big difference in the way how highly perishable fruits and vegetables are packed and consumed. Finally, the author gives a short narration of various types of packaging machines that are available today and also lists out major global suppliers of packaging solutions for horticulture industry.

La coma nos envuelve en una historia –inverosímil y surrealista– de dos mujeres, Ella y Ella, que parecen no tener futuro ni destino en este mundo pero que, al encontrarse más allá de esta vida y del plano terrenal, comparten una fuerza extraordinaria y transformadora. Con escenas cuasi dramáticas, Ella nos lleva de la mano a sentir y vivir la infertilidad, la coma, la muerte, el divorcio, el cambio de residencia, la orfandad, el amor, la cárcel, los juzgados, la enfermedad, el coronavirus y la lucha por derrotarlas. Ella está inmersa en un sueno sin fin, donde no sabemos donde empieza la vida y termina la coma, donde se encuentra la muerte y empiezan las fantasías. Después de La coma, Ella reaprende a caminar a los treinta y tres anos entre piedras y por pasadizos sin fin, en libertad –y sin ella–, a regocijarse de ser una persona digna y autónoma que brinda amor a todo aquel que lo requiere aun sin pedirlo. Ella atraviesa, junto con Leonard, su esposo, momentos de lucidez y de perdición que la llevan a no comprender las emociones humanas, a perderse entre el amor y el rencor, el egoísmo y la incertidumbre. Así, a pesar de superar la línea de la muerte juntos y de emprender un cambio de residencia al casco medieval con los mellizos recién nacidos, el resultado final no es la unión, la gratitud y el amor; en su lugar Ella descubre que Leonard nunca le perdonó haber sufrido un derrame cerebral y haber truncado la vida “normal” con la que tanto sonaban. A la par –en el mismo tiempo y espacio–, Ella también combate sus más dolorosas batallas, esas que convierten su día a día en penumbras y telaranas de pensamientos revueltos que la hacen transitar sobre terrenos ásperos, invadidos de neblina que no le permiten mostrar al mundo exterior su verdadero rostro de tristeza y de dolor. Ella carga en su mente escenas fragmentadas –y en el pecho la culpa– del accidente que la llevó a la muerte por unos minutos y que cambió toda su realidad, tornándola de tonos luminosos y claros a grises y oscuros. Sus pensamientos aún giran –igual que aquel auto en el cual derrapó– en sus noches y sus suenos y son atacados por los recuerdos borrosos, confusos y desorientados que alteran su vida. Su único bálsamo es el amor de Adam, su hermoso hijo, y la callada comprensión de Elliot, su esposo leal, quien es testigo impotente de su dolor, y que estará a su lado hasta su repentina muerte. Ella, ya sin rumbo, se hunde aún más entre la agonía de la depresión y la ausencia de su fallecido esposo. La tabla de salvación para ambas se presenta de a poco, entre alucinaciones y el aroma a orquídeas y vida; y aunque desde siempre presienten que se reencontrarán más allá de ese mundo irreal y lleno de luz, no saben que lograrán descanso y paz con la presencia de la otra en este plano. No sospechan que las sombras, la soledad y la constante preocupación que cada una muestra cual fiel espejo, sólo es un paso más para cumplir su destino pactado en otra vida, ese que está lleno de amor y nuevos horizontes... hasta que la coma se los permita.  

Dekameron-projekt - 29 új novella a járvány idejéből - A The New York Times válogatása, A szürreálison innen, a fikción túl. Giovanni Boccaccio az 1348-as, végzetes fekete pestisből merített ihletet: főművében, a Dekameronban egy csapat fiatal férfi és nő Firenze mellett, egy villában mesékkel szórakoztatja egymást, amíg arra várnak, hogy a járvány elvonuljon. 2020 márciusában a The New York Times Magazine elindította A Dekameron-projektet - egy novellagyűjteményt, amelynek történeteit egytől egyig a közelmúlt meghatározó eseménye, a Covid-19 vírusjárvány ihleti. A kötet világhírű alkotói (többek közt Margaret Atwood, Mona Awad, Tommy Orange, Edwidge Danticat vagy David Mitchell) ugyanabban a helyzetben találják magukat, mint Boccaccio szereplői, azzal a különbséggel, hogy történeteik szó szerint az egész világnak szólnak. A történetmesélés kordokumentum és gyógyír a korszakos sokkra, amelyet a járvány világszerte sok millió embernek okozott. A huszonkilenc illusztrált történet vírusos korunk időtlen lenyomata. A novellák szerzői: Margaret Atwood, Mona Awad, Matthew Baker, Mia Couto, Edwidge Danticat, Esi Edugyan, Julián Fuks, Rivka Galchen, Paolo Giordano, Uzodinma Iweala, Etgar Keret, Rachel Kushner, Laila Lalami, Victor Lavalle, Yiyun Li, Dinaw Mengestu, David Mitchell, Liz Moore, Dina Nayeri, Téa Obreht, Andrew O'Hagan, Tommy Orange, Caitlin Roper, Karen Russel, Kamila Shamsie, Leila Slimani, Rivers Solomon, Colm Tóibín, John Wray, Charles Yu, Alejandro Zambra

Történetek. Mások történetei. A mi történeteink. Hat szóban és sokszor hatban elmesélve. Minden itt zajlik körülöttünk. Bevonódunk mások történeteibe, ismeretlenekébe is. Látjuk a családokat, a szerelmeket, a szakításokat, látunk mindenféle kapcsolódásokat. Így aztán sok mindent gondolunk az életről. Sok mindent gondolunk a kapcsolatokról. És nagyon sok mindent gondolunk egymásról. Amit itt most közreadtunk, reményeink szerint segít meglátni mások történeteiben a saját kérdéseinket. Mások sorsainak pillanatfelvételeiből talán azt is, hogy mit jelent, hogy szabadon dönthetünk, hogy a fájdalmaink feldolgozásához, a félelmeink leküzdéséhez milyen utat választunk. És azt is, hogy van, amikor úgy döntünk, hogy nem akarunk gyógyulni. Mert esetleg nem hiszünk abban, hogy létezik olyan élet, amely számunkra is tartogat szépséget. Hiszen rengeteg a reménytelenség, az elhagyatottság, a magány körülöttünk, bennünk. Vajon mit kezdenünk a történeteinkkel? Vagy mások történeteivel? Annak idején amikor Michelangelót csodálták Dávid szobráért, ő valami olyasmit mondott: „Nem volt nehéz dolgom. Ránéztem a márványra, és megláttam benne Isten alkotását, Dávidot.” Mi mindketten úgy élünk és abban hiszünk, hogy valami ilyesmi segít átemelkedni magunkon. Befelé nézni és meglátni magunkban Isten alkotását. Ránézni a másik emberre és meglátni benne Isten alkotását. Ez nem spirituális kérdés. Még csak nagy felemelkedettség sem szükséges hozzá. Szeretünk élni. Ezért nincs mese, sokszor kínzóan őszintén nézünk rá a saját életünkre. Hogy tetten érjük magunkat, amikor előítéletesek vagyunk, elkülönülünk. Hogy észrevegyük, amikor már kezd elfogyni a levegőnk. És nagy barátságban vagyunk azzal, hogy nem vagyunk tökéletesek. Ezért nem is keresünk tökéletességet az emberi világban. Ez segít. Tényleg. Hagyni, hogy a másik az lehessen, aki, a világ legfelszabadítóbb tapasztalása. És segít túlemelkedni saját magunkon. Segít elengedni azokat, akiknek más az útjuk és mérlegelés nélkül átadni magunkat azoknak, akikkel van valami közös víziónk. Nem vagy idegen. Talán ez a legfontosabb üzenet, amit mi, emberek egymásnak adhatunk, mert ebben ott van az egész lényegünk. És benne minden lehetőségünk önmagunk meghaladására. Hiszen sarokba szorítva mindig csak egy kicsi területet látunk. Lehet, hogy csak annyit, amennyi a támadáshoz elég. Miközben rálátni valamire, valakire egy másik nézőpontból, megérteni a történetünk addig rejtett üzenetét, valóban sorsfordító lehet. Világra jönnek a szavaink. Ezt áldásként fogadjuk és éljük. Mert a tiszta szándékok szerinti teremtés a pillanat teljességének ajándékát adja. És a teljességbe hajló pillanataink a legnagyobb ajándékaink. Történetek, találkozások, sorsok. Közünk van egymáshoz. Mindannyiunknak.

Paul Wellman knows his Kansas and gives the reader the feel of the plains, of the sky “the bowl of brass”, of the loneliness outside the tiny communities, and the bitter core within the communities themselves. This has the quality of catching the feel of the opening West... it has no specific characters or incidents associated with history, and yet there is a note of authority in his background of political shenanigans as the tiny town of Jericho through its “boss” makes a bid for county seat, for state official recognition, for railroad right of way. The story centers on an odd triangle situation,—there’s a lovely girl married to an old man, a skinflint who grinds every ounce possible out of his hired man—and eventually loses all in the process. A moving story with a somewhat sensational finale, but a good picture of the opening west ’round about 1880.

Drawing her title from George Sterling's poem "Into a crystal cup the dusky wine I pour" Atherton begins her exploration of Freudian theories, disecting contemporary morals and inhibitions.

Terence Oliver Paul Rivers was named after the three black sheep of his aristocratic Southern family. Perhaps it was perverse, but he grew up the wildest, craziest bucko of them all. Charleston couldn't hold him. A well-placed bullet between the eyes of a dueling opponent took care of that. So Terence headed west to Zander City. There he met the legendary Lost Wolf, a white man who'd been raised by the savage Cheyennes. Lost Wolf had turned out so crazy that the Cheyennes wouldn't make him a chief even though he was their best fighter. Between this untamed white Indian and the runaway Southern aristocrat developed the strangest friendship in the history of the West!

Ishaan, a young man, and Anand Dada, an old man, live lonely lives in the same apartment building in New Delhi. Being neighbors they soon become friends. Suddenly Baby, a little orphan girl, comes into their lives after her mother disappears after a bomb blast set off by terrorists and Anand Dada takes on the responsibility of upbringing Baby. But Baby and Anand Dada were destined to be separated … and Anand Dada destined to lead a lonely old age. Spring Also Comes is the story of Anand Dada's struggle against loneliness and alcoholism after being separated from Baby. Ishaan is his only help and support. It is also about Baby's lonely and often hopeless fight to be re-united with Anand Dada. Will a little girl's lonely fight succeed? Narrated by Ishaan and set in New Delhi, Spring Also Comes, is a poignant tale about the plight of victims of terrorism and about the loneliness of ordinary individuals in big cities. The moving relationships among lives made seemingly meaningless by plain loneliness and the struggle of lonely people for worthwhile relationships in hopeless situations is movingly depicted. Spring Also Comes is a novel about the ultimate victory of the human spirit over terrorism and loneliness in Mr Bhattacharyya's concise, bare and deceptively simple prose In 2005 Mr Bhattacharyya published his first novel, Of Another Time. Spring Also Comes (2010) is Mr Bhattacharyya's second novel.

The House of Adventure is Warwick Deeping's tale of a World War I soldier and his life after the war in a small French village. One of Deeping's best novels.

Modern advanced hydroponics grow systems combine one or more hydroponics systems into a highly efficient grow system unit to ensure higher yields and high quality of the produce. This fusion of different hydroponics technologies into a single advanced hydroponics grow system has made it possible to produce hydroponics crops on a commercial scale.

„Ebben a novelláskötetben azokat az írásaimat olvashatjátok összegyűjtve és némileg átszerkesztve, amelyeket egykor – a nem is olyan távoli múltban – Gabriel Wraith néven publikáltam különféle antológiákban, folyóiratokban. A rövidebb-hosszabb történetek jelentős része a fantasy műfajához kötődik, ám található közöttük más egyéb fantasztikus elemeket is tartalmazó, komorabb hangvitelű, abszurd vagy realisztikus, humoros vagy éppenséggel parodisztikus, fordulatos vagy túlnyomórészt egy konkrét csattanóra épülő… nos, agyszülemény. Minden, ami egy „lidérces” álnevet választott szerző pihent agyából csak kipattanhatott. Jó szórakozást kívánok hozzájuk!”

Sárdi Györgyi históriája valójában egy felettébb izgalmas utazásra invitálja az olvasót. E kisregény és a fantáziánk jóvoltából elutazhatunk messzire a világ zajától, füstjétől és önzésétől. Elutazhatunk egy olyan varázslatos világba, ahol még az igazi, ősi emberi és természeti értékek a fontosak. Részesei lehetünk egy olyan világnak, ahol első ránézésre ugyan egyszerűen mennek a dolgok: jó és rossz küzd egymással, s valahogy mégis az az érzésünk, hogy a rossz sem feltétlen rossz igazán. Ebben a világban helye van a szeretetnek, a bosszúnak, a gyűlöletnek, a megbocsátásnak, az elfogadásnak, az önzésnek és az önzetlenségnek, az alázatnak, a hazafiasságnak, az ármánynak, a cselnek, a dühnek, a kedvességnek, a jóságnak, a bizonytalanságnak, a cselnek, a megoldásnak, és a romantikának. Pontosan azoknak az érzéseknek, melyek empirikus világunkban is léteznek ugyan, kimutatni, őszintén felvállalni ezeket viszont a „szigorú” társadalmi elvárások miatt olykor nehézkes.  

About the Book: Laxmi, a College student, faces a life of degradation through the misspent youth of three young village boys who attend her College too and enticed by thoughts of marriage thought to infringe on her status as the daughter of a Business tycoon. Although she faces much in life and feels humiliation at being forced to marry, she has either to bear the pain or turn her life around. About the Author: Charlotte Gardner lives in  Darjeeling,  a small town with beautiful forests and a toy train which winds down the hills. She has a history of writing, was published in Woman's Era during her married years. She became a novelist, wrote A Handul of Dust and The Curse of Garibagh, her two debut novels. She is a tea taster, does organics and is Himalayan Tea and Organics. This novel COLORED LIGHTS is just a fleeting memory of traffick signals and the toy train which derailed and the snows of the beautiful Himalayas which bring her home every time.

This four-book collection features innocent young prey shifters falling prey to Alpha Werewolves. Here, you will find: Obedient Kitten When Theodore's friend dies unexpectedly, he bequests him a house and everything in it. Everything includes a young cat shifter, the lawyer says, eyes gleaming with greed and envy. Cat shifters are a rare species in a world ruled by humans and werewolves. They are considered precious and protected, and a half-shift like her? Well, she is worth tens of millions in the black market. Training Hucow The last thing Erik expects to see when he arrives in the mandatory Shifter class that the University had just set up that week is a bound hucow being rolled into the class like a human sacrifice. Their professor thinks hucows are made to be used and is offering her just for that purpose.  Except he's wrong. She's not a toy to be used. She's precious and most importantly, she's his and he intends to make it clear right there in front of all his classmates.  Abandoned Kitten When Anna losses her Master, she panics and shifts into her cat form, hiding in her animal mind because she doesn't have to deal with grief if she's a cat. Except nobody tells the werewolf who had been tasked with taking care of her that she's not actually a cat. It’s not too bad, living with the Werewolf, except she’s human too and have other needs that can’t be ignored.  Lost Little Rabbit Ally is pretty sure she's going to die. She should never have wandered away from her friend. Now, werewolves have taken interest in her and are hunting her down in broad daylight. She's a weak - and probably delicious - rabbit, so it's only a matter of time before they catch her. There are only so many places she can hide in the city. ~~~~~ Excerpt ~~~~~ "Hello there.” The man looms in front of her, huge and terrifying. "What's a little thing like you doing out here all alone? Don't you know it's not safe for shifters like you out here?" "I um- I'm just here for the event," she stutters. "If you could point me in the direction of my hotel, that would be very helpful," she says, hoping her ears are properly tucked under her hair and they can't see them. Apparently city folks are weird about Shifters like her, which was why Darnell had been so wary about letting her out of the hotel. "Aren't you sweet?" The man sneers, looming in front of her, closing in and grabbing her wrist hard enough to hurt. "Please let go," she says, her heartbeat going too fast. "I- Please," she whimpers, eyes filling with tears. She can hold onto her shift easier now that she's older, but she's fast forgetting how to keep in control because she's really scared right now. "Why would I do that? Sweet little thing like you," he drawls, leaning in and licking a wet strip up her cheek. It's really gross and she pulls away, cheeks going bright red with humiliation. The other werewolves are closing in now too, trapping her between them to give her the feeling of prey being surrounded. It's terrifying. Her breath hitches and her eyes burn with tears. She wipes away the saliva on her cheek with the back of her hand. She doesn't like the way he smells like cigarette smoke. He yanks her close, pulling their bodies closer together and then he shifts partially so that his fingers turn into sharp claws right in front of her eyes. She thinks of hitting him and running away but she's outnumbered. She closes her eyes and grimaces when she feels him comb through her hair, tips of his claws cutting through her hair band like it's made of paper. Her hair tumbles out from the ponytail and her rabbit ears drop down. A whine escapes her throat. Her ears fold back, and she trembles quietly, panicking. "Jesus-" "Oh my god." "What the-" She closes her eyes, heart beating so hard she's afraid it would break through her rib cage and abandon her. "Aren't you just lovely," he grins and she can feel his breath on her cheek, burning hot and smelling like cigarette smoke and danger. Her ear

First came the time-storm, which erased half the population. Then came the Dinosaur Apocalypse …   How did it all begin? Well, that depends on where you were and who you ask. In some places it started with the weather—which quickly became unstable and began behaving in impossible ways. In still others it started with the lights in the sky, which shifted and pulsed and could not be explained. Elsewhere it started with the disappearances: one here, a few there, but increasing in occurrence until fully three quarters of the population had vanished. Either way, there is one thing on which everyone agrees—it didn’t take long for the prehistoric flora and fauna to start showing up (often appearing right where someone was standing, in which case the two were fused, spliced, amalgamated). It didn’t take long for the great Time-displacement called the Flashback—which was brief but had aftershocks, like an earthquake—to change the face of the earth. Nor for the stories, some long and others short, some from before the maelstrom (and resulting societal collapse) and others after, to be recorded.   Collected herein are the stories in which Love mattered.   From Love in the Age of Reptiles:   There were six of them, as I said—all of whom rushed us the instant our feet touched the ground. All of whom snarled and charged us like wolverines as we raised our weapons and fired—the flare gun cracking and hissing, blanching the scarlet haze (for the sun had painted everything red and gold), its projectile punching through one of the raptors’ chests and lighting it up so that its ribs were backlit briefly and I could see, if only for an instant, its burning, beating heart.   Yet still they came, another one leaping at me even as I dropped the gun—which clattered against the planks—as I dropped it and grabbed the thing by its neck—then brought the knife down with my other hand and stabbed it between the eyes.   “Run!” I shouted, even as Amanda shot another—her second—and then bolted toward the shore, drawing the others so that I was able to snatch up the flare gun and quickly reload it; so that I was able to pursue them and to shoot one in the back—while Amanda turned and took out the last of them (shooting it in the head so that the back of its skull exploded like a spaghetti dinner thrown against the wall; so that it collapsed, writhing, about 10 feet in front of her—whereupon she quickly approached it and shot it again, just to be sure).   And then she looked at me (as the dead and dying animals lay all around us) and I looked back: our chests heaving; our faces covered in sweat, our worn clothes bloody and disheveled, and I knew that she knew—which was that today we were the predators, the thing needing to be feared—the killers. And that neither of us needed to worry; not about food or other predators or mysterious lights in the sky or anything. Because we were the masters of our fate, we and no one else, not even God. And we were the master of the world’s fate, too.   At which she ran to me and we collided and I held her fast, there on the long jetty in the Atlantic Ocean (in the Bermuda Triangle), there beneath a day moon and the blood-red sky, in an instant in which it was good, so very good, not to be afraid, not to be alone. And as to what may or may not have happened in those breaths, those pulse points between that moment and the next—the next day, the next search, the next milestone; as to that, I offer only a quote from Gandhi: “Speak only if it improves upon the silence.”