Sailor hated his name as much as he hated the sea.

He stared into the eyes of death in the shape of a double-barreled shotgun held by a blond.

The long line of sailing ships heading down river was, like the leaves falling, a sure sign of the changing of the season.

The sculptor rushed headlong towards the river, the word "death" seeming to float among the buildings, but when he reached the bridge he was suddenly struck by the beauty of the dappled sunlight on the water and at once he was himself again.

For Mr. White loan sharking was a losing proposition, since he was now competing with the bankers.

All the wailing and gnashing of teeth gave the king a headache.

The sounds, like distant thunder cracks, meant that the war would soon by on their doorstep.

Our little friend, now long dead, began to appear in our dreams with alarming freqeuncy.

Joe's doppelganger wreaked havoc on his personal life.

We watched the bulldozers quickly and efficiently destroy history.

The blue-gray clouds flattened against a green-gold sky, an A.P. Ryder painting seen through my window.

The boat sat there empty, inviting.

That morning the gypsies were gone, leaving our town as mysteriously as they had arrived.

Judge Ed "Hang em' High" Evans had a series of notches cut into his gavel and today he planned to add another.

"Jake, we're all just one hammer click away from oblivion," he said, raising his weapon.

Eventually, everyone stopped listening.

The scratching in the wall was bad enough, but when the moaning and clanking of chains kicked in, Ernest decided to speak to the landlord about getting a cut rate deal.

Sometimes she considered just laying down and dying.

A defiant tone was all Smith could muster with his hands bound and a gun in his back.

The mountain was ablaze in color, a signal of the impending months of death, snow and cold.

They were a rag-tag group of friends more interested in getting high than making history, but somehow they ended up doing both.

Eventually they stopped looking up at the sky and lived their lives as if covered by a hard, opaque shell.

He couldn’t shake the image of the deer reflected in the headlights, its back legs crushed and its front hoofs struggling uselessly as it tried to lift itself.

There was a subtle shift in the world that night.

Flannigan made a career off of innuendo and double-speak working for a series of politicians who were far less intelligent than he was, but who had better hair.

I was no mangy cur, but could be as loyal as a milk fed family pet if the mood struck.

"A man's credit score is more important than his character," she told me over drinks.

Terence began to suspect that everything he believed was just plain wrong.

Suzette woke that morning with the greatest idea for a novel she had ever had, but between the bathroom and the kitchen she had completely forgotten what it was.

There was no smell quite like Bourbon Street on a Sunday morning in August.

I ran into her at a friend's party and although we had once lived together her name escaped me.

He had truly become a stranger in his own town.