For your reading pleasure, Tempest presents yet another exquisite example of romantic narrative…

Bloody, Final Fear
by Gail Longfellow, USAF

   Waiting alone in the gleaming, antiseptic operating theatre, with the ophidian, inchoate fragrance of a new spring wafting in from outside, the still-proud Princess thought once more of the Chief’s handsome son, the man she had belonged to so completely. He was now, according to her horoscope, dancing away the hot Rio nights with the sultry Clarissa.
   Suddenly, came a sudden clatter of hooves, and she shut her eyes tight for one moment of silent prayer. He was here! “Without you I just plain ain’t nothin’, my angel — my porcelain angel!” he chuckled.
   Abruptly, it dawned on her that her days of loneliness were over, and as he went down on his knees and implored her to forgive him, she knew that at last he was hers — and that only death could part them.

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