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By Jacques Antoine, Jeanette Raleigh, Jess Mountifield, Alison Blake, Brandon Hale

Roads finish. they start someplace, too. In among, all demeanour of items occur: friendship, betrayal, horror and perhaps even pleasure. For a few, the tip of the line brings love and happiness, for others soreness and ache, and for a worthwhile few, sorrow could lead on to whatever revelatory. The potholes and pitfalls present in this anthology are many, yet for each personality, there's an finish of the road.

This highway results in a set of brief tales via 25 of the main talented writers of our time. meant for enthusiasts of brief fiction all over, the End of the Road is a needs to learn for a person rationale on holding present with the literary scene.

Contributing authors:

Brandon Hale

Robert Thomas

Saxon Andrew

James Rozoff

Anna J. McIntyre

Donna B. McNicol

Randall Morris

James Rozoff

Alison Blake

Jeanette Raleigh

L. S. Burton

Jess Mountifield
C. A. Newsome

J R C Salter

Michael Meyer

E. B. Boggs

David A. Cuban

Scott Langrel

John Daulton

Kathleen Steed

Chris Ward

Jacques Antoine

Suzie O'Connell

Thomas Jenner

Angeline Perkins

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It’s a seeing stone. ” She’s by no means acknowledged this ahead of, to somebody. She thinks of telling the tale of ways she came upon it at the seashore while she used to be ten, the cold glow it gave off even ahead of she observed the opening in it, yet makes a decision that’s going too a long way. “You should still exhibit it to Mum,” says Amber, indicating a lady in denims and a humid red velvet most sensible, bisected by way of a bulging software belt. “She’s a white witch. ” Amber’s Mum is termed Rachel. She tramps over, introduces herself and appears kindly at Christine’s stone. “Oh, are you curious about Wicca? you will have quartz or beryl for scrying. notwithstanding after all, you may make do with a bowl of water. ” Christine attempts to maintain her eyebrows from emerging. “Can you spot that? ” she asks mildly, nodding on the cell phone tower. considered in the course of the stone, the mast wavers and shimmers as though obscured through a warmth haze that thickens right into a boiling black column, fraught with electrical quivers. From inside it a couple of tremendous lighting glower out over the bushes. She’s by no means visible a specific thing residing in anything so sleek. “See what? ” asks Rachel. The eyes within the blackness meet hers and she or he places the stone down speedy. “Never brain. ” Rachel is unquestionably now not a witch. yet she passes Christine a thermos of cocoa, so Christine doesn’t carry it opposed to her. Rain soaks her hair. Bulldozers and cherrypickers are crawling nearer from the sting of the scar, flanked via males in acid yellow jackets. There are bad shouts from humans at the flooring, dragged out of the machines’ direction. “Save our bushes! ” a guy with a megaphone is booming from a sycamore fifty yards away. “Save our timber! ” She begins shouting alongside. “Eruga! ” shouts Rachel, in its place. “It’s a Celtic conflict cry,” Amber explains. “Eruga! ” echoes Christine, who thinks she hasn't ever been so satisfied in her lifestyles. the times ARE nonetheless brief. The yellow-jackets have dragged or chased off every person at the floor they could and feature settled right into a siege round the foot of the tree by the point the sky darkens. a few males in blue boiler fits have scaled one of many different camps, however the protesters fled throughout highwires and at the moment are catcalling their foes from different bushes, even though they give the impression of being less warm and wearier now. however the chainsaws have complex. the forefront of the A3012 is nearer now, its development specified by white, uncooked stumps. The wood-things have become very fearful now. They trample and lash out within the undergrowth. Christine observed a guy over excited by means of the police, blood pouring from his head. Amber huddles opposed to Rachel’s aspect, pale-faced, whereas Rachel exclaims on the brutality. “I don’t imagine it was once the police,” says Christine. She needs she hadn’t, afterwards. Amber seems at her oddly. She doesn’t are looking to do it, with Amber taking a look at her like that, however the case is pressing: she starts drawing a development at the platform in chalk, a fancy labyrinth of strains and pathways, like a fingerprint. Sand or flour or salt will be higher, yet whether she had any, it should all blow away up right here. “Is spell? ” asks Amber. Her tone sounds, if in simple terms very faintly, unnerved and censorious; possibly this isn't the type of spell Rachel does.

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