Rinn Builds a Writer's Portfolio

Smoke hung so thick in the library’s rafters that she could read the words in it. She wondered briefly if the words were like ghosts-fleeting memories of what once was-as she crawled across the floor. But she supposed they weren’t, since they currently said to “Go left at JL-JM,”  which she promptly did. It was still dark, and she could hear other people panicking, trying to remember where the door is. She wanted to yell out “follow me” but she was afraid she’d suck in too much smoke herself.   Instead, she looked up again. The smoke told her to “ Go right at the micro…” but then it got wispy.  The firemen must be arriving. She assumed it meant “microfiche,” and sure enough, there it was. Her lungs were starting to burn, and her hair was plastered to her, but now she could see the door, and others.  It looked like most of them were on their way to safety. She tried not to think about the ones she had heard in the back.  As she crossed the childre...

The markets are always the busiest on Tuesdays.  I've never been able to figure out why. You come on a Tuesday evening, and you'll see every race and ever religion represented by the Five Galaxy Alliance. Being human in this sea of beings was daunting, as we're smaller than the vast majority of races, both in size and population.  In the beginning we were even considered an endangered species. Can you imagine that? At one point, they say, there were over 7 billion humans on a tiny planet. Now there are maybe 15 million of us spread across the galaxy. A lot of people died in the war, more died in the transition to space, and here we are, 13 generations out, a tiny fraction of the Alliance. Almost doted on like naughty children. This week there was a new seller. A little, old man. Probably human, but there are some similar races.  He was older than you tend to see in these parts, but not so old as to be unheard of, and he was selling a pen full of bouncing floofs. I'...