The hallowed halls of Vital Yield Ministries were messy but quaint. A thin sheen of grime covered every surface and there were small rips in the forest green fabric of the pews. Volunteers did their best to keep things tidy, but they all knew it was a losing battle. There was never enough money in The Highlands.
Author: Kevin Midas
Yo, I'm Kevin Midas, The Legend. I'm a writer, musician, JungAppleGod, Black Crystal-lite & non-denominational Buddhist. Professionally, I'm CEO of Mythoi; Media. I enjoy creating.
Chapter 6; Shank. Siren. Sausagefest.
Late forenoon, a bit before twelve, was the edge of morning for The Highlands. Almost remiss dawn. North toward Sector, over the gargantuan Gate Quartal—which separated Taction Shiatsa from Anma—early signs of daybreak were finally showing. The heavens were a muted pink-gray. A large veil of shade, the shadow cast by Gate Quartal, shrank back. Inching, slowly.
Chapter 5; Mimosas & Rotten Milk.
“Wait. Not good enough... Maybe… Now, you’re really peacocking.” Yaz said. Paused. Then slapped his thigh. “Ahh, fuck, I got it! Looks like you flock together with birds of a loser feather!” He stared at the ground. “Nah, that’s dumb. The first one stays.”
Chapter 4; Gangbanging Over Bacon
The beacon was brighter now. Beams streamed down onto the campus quad just outside the dining hall, obscured by the large canopy built over it. A moment passed. Yaz watched the beacon. It was nearing completion of its early task to brighten the sky. Soon, he thought wryly, it would be morning in The Highlands.
Chapter 3; A Cup of Conflict in the AM
An alarming wail. Another. An alarming wail. Closer. On the southern outskirts of The Highlands, striding the broad path of Anubhoot Avenue, large hilly plains ended at a vale of boulders as tall as trees. Those who found themselves knowledgeable in the geography of Etre City, and thereby the boundaries of the Hood 55, would know this outcropping marked the end of The Highlands.
Spirit of the City 