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travelguideworldtour-blog · 5 years

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12 Best Places in New York

Utilize our guide to the nyc attractions you are enjoyable guests or only need to play with tourist and re-visit places that are legendary. We’ve compiled our favourite beaches and areas on the planet, for example amazing parks, art museumsand super markets and historical places.

Historic Huguenot Street

Historical Huguenot Street can be currently a 10-acre National Historic Landmark District maintaining the 1677 Hudson Valley payoff of Huguenot families that settled into the location seeking spiritual liberty. The district houses a myriad of tourist attractions and keeps its historical personality that is 19th century, like seven and the 1717 Huguenot Church. A picnic grove is offered by A tourist centre and shows to the area of diverse collections, for example its own French, and Dutch settlers and native classes. Draws include several web sites, a copy Munsee native wigwam, and also a burial ground maintaining the remains of the oldest settlers of their region. Free tours of this historical district can be obtained for people showcasing background information to the milestones of the region.

New York Botanical Garden

The children program is closely tied directly to research workers. A highlight of this New York Botanical Garden may be your train series, where enthusiasts can take pleasure in trains. For people who have limited freedom, there can be a train readily available for traveling.

Even the New York Botanical Garden, located on 250 acres at the Bronx, comprises over a thousand plants in temperate, subtropical, and subtropical desert parts of earth. The gardens have been centered on give gardening classes and conservation and education to many ages, in addition to supplementary classes for adults at botanical example, botany, landscape gardening, and art therapy.

Hudson Beach Glass

Hudson Beach Glass is among the Hudson Valley’s premiere glasswork studios, Both owned and operated by Wendy and John Gilvey, Jennifer Smith, and Michael Benzer as 1987. As the provider’s key studio has been worked inside a remodeled ice hockey house, demonstration centre and its gallery remains available to the general public around Beacon’s Main Street in just a firehouse centre reachable via the Beacon metronorth rail channel. Presentations can be viewed by visitors and watch a selection of glass works made by studio designers, for example bits and home items which might be purchased via the art shop of the facility. Visitors may be involved in glass and glass blowing training courses, emphasizing processes like decoration blowing and glass bead manufacturing. Public events consist of participation from the yearly Second Saturday Beacon art of the city walk.

Farmers’ Museum

There are screens of fields and farming implements full of legacy livestock. Educational programs are offered for adults, also for families, school classes. For a minimal fee, visitors move on horsedrawn wagon rides or can ride the hands. The memorial has a lot of places where beverage and food are all available .

Even the Farmers’ Museum, at Cooperstown, New York, introduces people with a peek at village and rural life throughout the 19th century. A number of those items are offered in the gift shop of the museum or at the overall Store.

Empire State Building

Even in line at the lobby can be an adventure by it self, since the ceilings of the lobby are all wonders of art deco murals left in aluminum foliage and 24 karat gold. Even the 86th floor observation deck is more open, allowing individuals while the deck wraps round the construction to observe most of Manhattan. Even the floor observation deck has been included, and also on a transparent day visitors can view as much as eighty kilometers off. The construction has bathroom facilities, gift shops, and restaurants.

As it had been completed in 1931, the Empire State Building was a iconic nyc attraction. The Art Deco style building can be a vital appeal for visitors to this town that come to gaze from the observation decks in Manhattan.

Sagamore Hill National Historic Site

Sagamore Hill has been the house of American president Theodore”Teddy” Roosevelt at that time it had been developed in 1885 before his death in 1919. His family obtained vacations that were lengthy also Roosevelt purchased a broad tract of property and experienced this gorgeous Queen Anne structure if he had been twenty years-old.

He spent time and effort while in office, and also your house became famous as”The Summer White House.” Reservations are advised there’s also a visitor centre which has a museum.

Broadway

Broadway could be your primary theatre district in Manhattan, ny City. It really is home to professional theatres of 500 seats apiece.

Broadway shows are still an attraction for sailors and tourists; the season. Broadway includes a tradition of theatre, which peaked from the 1950s and 1960s with shows like Oklahoma and goes back to 1866! , West Side Story, and Fiddler on top drawing rave reviews and also a great number of theatergoers.

Old Westbury Gardens

Old Westbury Gardens delivers educational programming for school classes, kids adults and adults, and also its own grounds are host to summer pop theaters, outdoor music festivals, auto shows, and book signings. The New York State program is followed by educational programming for school classes, and it’s readily available for classes in the kindergarten.

Westbury House and Also old Westbury Gardens were property and Both the home of John Shaffer Phipps, Also a United States of America steel magnate, along with his wife and 4 children. The Charles II style house, high in art work and antiques, sits on 200 acres of woodlands, ponds, lakes, and orchards, that admired throughout an tour or is enjoyed.

Antique Boat Museum

Open until October, the Antique Boat Museum grounds are home to the Antique Boat Show and Auction, that attracts ship aficionados. Every year, a charity regatta is held by the Antique Boat Museum. With an superb gift shop, videos, along with also slideshows, the Antique Boat Museum can be a mustsee for boat fans.

Even the Antique Boat Museum sits Around 1,500 feet of St. Lawrence River Shore and has Got the largest collection of Classic Ships in United States. It’s a superb selection of classic canoes, a display that traces the growth of boat construction, also will be offering a peek at the foundation of angling around the St. Lawrence River.

Forest Hill Stadium

A portion of this West Side Tennis Club at Forest Hills, New York City has been constructed in 1923 and renovated to sponsor diverse events and tennis tournaments. The West Side Tennis Club is a tennis team together with 38 tennis courts together with bud court, clay-court, Har Tru, along with surfaces. Additionally, it comes with an Olympic-size pool. The arena has 14,000 chairs and hosts concerts in addition to ski events. Throughout its peak popularity, the scene was the place for festivals with such titles as Bob Dylan, The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, Barbra Streisand, Paul Simon, Frank Sinatra, Jimi Hendrix, and more. The scene was the place for its Forest Hills Music Festival.

Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York

Even the Metropolitan Museum of Art, called The Met, is at the center of New York City, plus it’s among the best and most most-visited galleries around the entire earth. The Met has two thousand pieces of art spanning and art is represented by it .

A number of its popular works involve musical instruments, antique arms and armor, photography, American and contemporary art, and European specialists, including pieces by Picasso, Rembrandt, Vermeer, Goya, El Greco, Delacroix, Degas, Renoir, Gaugin, Cezanne, and Monet. The memorial, which was available guided tours and educational programming and has created connections. The Cloisters is at Manhattan and it is really just a repository and exhibit place for sculpture, decorative arts, and design.

Brooklyn Botanical Garden

A conservatory comprises a bonsai garden that is related. The Shakespeare Garden imitates a English cottage garden, and also the Cranford Rose Garden hosts over a million species of roses and comprises over plants. The Children’s Garden will be the earliest in the Earth, and it’s widely utilized by youngsters from the area to develop fresh fruit and veggies. You can find plants in blossom inside and outside all year round, and also the garden boasts extensive programming.

Even the Brooklyn Botanical Garden, that sits at the center of one of New York’s five boroughs, can be actually really just a joy to local visitors and residents. It’s famous for its Japanese Garden it comprises 2 dozen flowering rock lanterns, a Shinto shrine bridges, and even trees.

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Best Places in New York City – Weekend Getaways

12 Best Places in New York

#Best Places in New York

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deathbyvalentine · 7 years

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Prompts

Worst Case Scenario

So, worst case scenario, there was a fire, and he was trapped in this fucking metal coffin, and he burnt to death, with nobody to hear his screams. Let nobody say Trick Adams was unimaginative. The familiar anxiety rose in his throat and burnt like bile. His chest stuttered a little, and he found it harder and harder to breathe. He reminded himself that he couldn’t suffocate, there were slats in the door where the light filtered through, and therefore, air.

God, it was quiet. He had long since stopped shouting, his throat hoarse and wrecked, realising nobody else was in the building.

What if for some reason school was cancelled for days, and he dehydrated to death? That seemed somehow more likely than the fire scenario, and panic, real panic welled up inside him. He braced his shoulders, leaning back, and tried to kick out at the door. But there wasn’t the room to gain the force and apart from a few ineffectual bangs, there wasn’t even a shudder. There wasn’t enough space to even sit down. His back ached from being slightly curved so his head did not hit the shelf.

It took a little while for him to realise the light was growing dimmer. He could no longer see the corridor outside of the slats. He could no longer see the outline of his hands when he looked down. His legs ached. His bladder ached. He was thirsty and he was hungry and fuck, his aunt would be going spare. He always told her when he was going out. Always.

It was pitch black and the only thing he could hear was his own breathing. It was quick and irregular and if he focused too much on it, it stopped sounding like his own. Like something was in there with him. It was about three am he snapped. His anxiety had been stretched far enough to break into a panic attack. He shoved at the door as hard as he could, kicking, screaming and eventually, sobbing. It was dark enough to feel like he was being smothered by it. Not really knowing where the locker ended, or himself began, or if something was standing directly outside the locker, waiting.

You could only be terrified for so long. The body could only sustain it for so long. He slipped in and out of dozing, jumping awake at the noises of the school. Eventually to his shame, he couldn’t hold his bladder anymore, and awkwardly went. The smell in the locker was enough to make him retch, but he managed to force down the urge. He thought, somehow, this night would never end. That time had somehow stopped, and this would be it, forever.

Imagine his surprise when slowly the outlines of his hands reappeared and soon were bathed in gold from the morning breaking. It must have been early, the halls were still quiet and not yet full of the bustle and movement a school encompassed. A bell hadn’t so much as whispered. And yet, footsteps, hurried and heavy. A little frantically he banged on the door with a fist, his voice too wrecked to be anything more than an inaudible whisper. The sound stopped outside his locker. The door was wrenched open, and he squinted, his eyes struggling to adjust to the bright autumn light. Freddy stood in front of him, thrusting forward a shirt. “Alright?”

The Distance From Where They Are

The lake was perfectly still, shining like glass. Rather than making him feel peaceful however, it filled his hands with restless energy. Why should the lake get to lie there, unchanging, undisturbed? Why did it get some peace?

It had been three weeks since his last postcard.

The skies were free of planes now. There was no longer the smell of smoke on the wind. He wasn’t woken in the night with distant booms, the sound of a thousand lives being snuffed out like insignificant candles.

He had wished, several times, that he too was a soldier. Selfish, he knew. But somehow the waiting was agonising, and without knowledge of the atrocities happening over the mountains, it seemed more appealing than this feeling of utter helplessness.

Thomas’s postcards had generally been muddy, short, and cheerful. But that was him to a T. Ryan had never heard him be anything less than positive. The time the store of firewood was ruined, the time the power was knocked out for weeks, when the herd was culled by wolves... He hadn’t complained, just did the work he needed to do. And when war came, well, he did the work he needed to do.

Ryan threw a rock into the lake as hard as he could, watching the ripples ruin the glasswork. He stood up, dusted the seat of his trousers, and began the short walk back to the village. The war had been over for two weeks. In his dreams, Thomas came to him, pale and bloody, his smart uniform full of holes. He never spoke, but stood silent and absent.

Days passed by with nothing of note, nights passed fitfully. And still he waited. And waited. And waited.

He woke up in the middle of the night, a cold breeze making the fire in the grate jump and dance. Instantly alert, he heard the latch on the front door quietly click shut. His breath caught in his throat, not daring to hope. There were no thieves in this area - they were too far out, too poor. The worst they got was vagabonds looking for a warm hearth.

There was a step on the stair, and he sat upright, the covers pooling around his bare hips. His door opened, and there was Thomas, pale and bruised and silent. He was unsmiling. Ryan rose, uncertain. Was he dreaming still? Was this a ghost? Had he finally lost it, driven mad by grief and longing? He approached him, noticing everything. The feel of the wood on his bare feet, the crackle of burning wood, even the navy of the sky outside.

His fingertips grazed Thomas’s cheek, and he did not fade. Ryan gasped his name, and suddenly he held Thomas in his arms. He was cold, he was shivering - or was he sobbing? He couldn’t tell, he couldn’t let him go, every army on earth coming for them couldn’t make him release him. He was here, alive, breathing, as real as he could be.

But when Ryan drew back, he began to notice the differences. How he was thinner. How there was dirt under his nails, and a bruise on his cheek. How tired he looked. How he still had said nothing, even though his shoulders were shaking. He guided him to the fire, stripping off the wet, cold clothes that clung to his skin. He rubbed warmth into his hands and feet. He wasn’t quite prepared for the mess of bandages under his shirt. He had been shot, in the shoulder and the bandages badly needed changing. How long had it been?

A shredded bedsheet and some hot water had to be enough. Thomas only hissed when the wound was cleaned, closing his eyes against the pain. Ryan’s mouth was full of meaningless apologies, to fill the silence as much as anything else. He couldn’t stop even when he dressed him in too-short pajamas, or when he wrapped his arms around him in their shared bed.

How could he have been foolish enough to wish to be a soldier?

Thomas would eat, would bathe, would sleep (often for hours and hours) but still would not speak. Sometimes he looked at Ryan and Ryan wasn’t sure he was really seeing him at all. He was seeing some other soldier, friend or foe, seeing some other landscape. It was breaking his heart. But he wouldn’t give up. Of course he wouldn’t. Love wasn’t easy.

The rest of the village kept a respectful distance, but every morning there was some baked good or soup or casserole left on their doorstep. When visiting the post office, they enquired carefully after his ‘companion’ and his injuries. Ryan told Thomas about these, in a forcefully upbeat tone, showing him flowers and books as he cleaned up their cottage. He wasn’t sure if Thomas even heard him.

It was Winter when he had an idea. He dressed Thomas up in hat, scarf, gloves, terrified of letting him get too cold again. Thomas wouldn’t tell him after all. He took his hand, and lead him down the icy path out of the village. It was quiet except for the crunch of their footsteps and the sound of their breathing.

The lake was not quite frozen, but looked like ice, reflecting the grey skies above. It would snow tonight - you could already see it on the tips of the mountains. They sat down, and Ryan wrapped an arm around Thomas. This was the most peaceful place he knew. The war had never even touched this place. It was whole, it was undisturbed. Nothing ever changed here.

Thomas let out a shuddering sigh, and when Ryan looked over, he was rubbing at his eyes, furiously. He looked over at Ryan, and smiled.

I Wouldn’t Start Here If I Were You

The alleys were narrow around here. Some brushed both your shoulders as you walked through, some scarcely let the light from above down, the roofs and fire escapes cluttered so much of the air. Still persistent, a flake or two of snow would flutter down and melt on his skin. Winter was here, as it would always be here. Once, it was warm. Once there was sun. Once there was, perhaps, a boy... He was sure of it. He pushed his hands further into his pockets, and popped his bubblegum impatiently. He could feel the bricks through his thin leather jacket, and on the wind, singing. He shook his head, unable to help a small smile. Who was still falling for that?

Finally, he heard a noise from the mouth of the alley. He fixed his smile, and turned to face the man walking towards him. His eyes flickered towards the skull and crossbones he wore, and he forced his expression to stay the same. He wondered if Jimmy thought similar of the acorn that rested innocently around his neck.

The pirate was smoking, and Eli took the cigarette from him as soon as he drew level, inhaling and grinning. “So, handsome. Have you got my stuff?” “No hello?” Jimmy feigned indignation, stealing his cigarette back, and leaning in a little too close. “After.” Jimmy tutted, and dug in the pockets of his long trench coat, and after a few long moments where Eli’s heart was pounding, produced a small baggy filled with a pinkish, shimmering powder. It looked like fairy dust, but Eli knew it wasn’t. This shit caused nightmares in anyone under the age of twenty five. Sometimes they got so bad it caused heart failure. Sometimes the kid never woke up.

He took the bag, and tucked it inside his own jacket, drawing his pocket knife as he did so.

But the pirate was quicker, grabbing his wrist and slamming it into the wall until he was forced to drop the knife. “Knew it kid. Every one said you were stringing me along. I wanted to believe different, but you Lost Boys are all alike, aren’t ya?” His other hand reached into Eli’s hair, and slammed his head back to hard against the wall, his vision swam.

“You don’t want to do this.” “No babe, I really do.”

“You really don’t.” A small squeak. A louder creak. Slowly, all the windows opened above them, and a small army of boys were cluttering up the fire escapes, hanging out of windows, holding rocks, bows, bottles. Out numbering the single, condemned pirate below. Eli grinned.

Nothing to Die For The snow fell down round her, and sat in drifts on her bare feet. She couldn’t feel it. She couldn’t feel anything. It felt like a sort of purgatory - the sky white and oppressive above her, the ground white and frozen below, her skin not far off from matching the hue.

She wanted to sleep here. To lie back, and let the snow cover her like a blanket, inch by inch, until she couldn’t be seen. What a gorgeous way to disappear. What peace. What silence. She stood, unsteadily, her dress slick and wet, clinging to her. She wasn’t brave enough to die, not really. She had not the courage for grand, sweeping gestures. She would perish ignobly, undignified, of old age or sickness, or swept out of this world with an avoidable accident.

She moved her feet, shocked at the sudden flash of green grass the movement uncovered. Still growing. Not dead yet.

Former Glory

“When you were beautiful...”

He was, once. They had long, red hair, easily tied back. Their skin was not so pale then, and caught the shine of the sun. His eyes were a deep, warm brown, full of expression. Their lips pink. They did not draw attention, they were not of that sort of beauty, but he warmed those he spoke to until they were entranced.

He was kinder then, too. Softer somehow. This should not be taken to mean that he was a pushover - he was still an Ossienne and his anger and pride was incredible to behold. But he was not cruel. His days were spent primarily reading and sparring, pushing themselves to be the best in both knowledge and swordplay. He learnt the history of the house by rote. He wore his nobility like the crown it was.

Winter had taken it from them. Their looks, his kindness, his grace. It had left something else, something colder, something with less humanity in it. They avoided mirrors now. They found no joy in poetry or fairytales. He felt cold, always. He was more glorious now than ever, it could be argued. He felt no fear, never flinched from battle, fought valiantly.

But he was no longer beloved. And then, what was the point?

Giving Advice

The door was left unlocked, as always. Only a man so confident he would be the most dangerous thing in the room would leave his door unlocked in these violent times. And while Ben may not have been the strongest or most martial man in London, he was almost certainly one of the most dangerous. Only a fool would try to rob him. Only a condemned man would try to kill him.

The apartment was lit with enough candles it had a warm, welcoming glow, if also a deluge of wax dripping onto papers and shelves alike. Ben was not one too preoccupied with the cleanliness of his apartment as long as his books and equipment were unharmed. Occasionally a cat would look particularly offended if a delicate paw touched the warm liquid.

The man standing by the window cut an elegant figure. He was lean - extraordinarily so. His black hair was a mess of curls, his sleeves rolled up to reveal a hint of tattoo ink. He was biting his lip as he inspected a letter he held. He could have been almost smiling.

Nathaniel’s letters were always a little close to his heart, as much as he liked to pretend otherwise. He kept all of them locked in his desk, never throwing a single one away. He often thought sentiment was for children, but still he kept them. This letter was asking for advice on a poison. Well, not in so many words as Nathaniel hated admitting he didn’t know anything, but that’s what he was doing.

He could scrawl a reply, condescending. He was tempted. But it was near Christmas, and perhaps he was going soft. He went to his other desk, too high for the cats to get at, everything sealed away, and selected a vial. It was filled with a white liquid, thick. The test tube was warm to the touch somehow. He slipped it in the envelope with a note, and paid the messenger handsomely to not drop it. It’d be his own funeral if he did.

Masks

“Roll up roll up!” He leapt on a crate, balancing on the edge with the middle of his feet. A few passersby paused, knowing a show when they saw one. Michelangelo had a way of both attracting attention and keeping it. Perhaps it was his looks, handsome, with curled chocolate hair and devilish blue eyes that always seemed to sparkle. His antlers were pretty too, draped with bits of gold and jewels. Or at least, things that looked like gold and jewels. In the Mestran streetlight, they looked almost the same.

His mask was the thing of true beauty of course. Dark dark red, with swirling patterns of gold, matching the changeling swirls that came up his neck from his chest. His chest which was so visible due to his shirt being more than a little generous with it’s opening. All part of the advertisement.

Quite the crowd was gathering now, anticipation building. “There is a show this evening, ladies and gentlefolk, quite a show indeed. You’d have to be a Regarian to miss it.” A predictable but solid laugh, consolidated with a grin. “It has love! Death! Twists and turns!” He scarcely stopped moving, an almost manic energy informing his expressions and hand gestures. “And, of course, it is held in one of our most reputable inns, of which exists an offer of a free drink with a ticket exists.” That was enough for most of them.

He handed over small bits of printed paper for a crown each. Not so expensive that it was unreasonable. A free drink came with it after all. Nor would it particularly make him rich. This wasn’t where the money was made. This was just a distraction.

In the crowd, flitting shadows. Lifted purses. A pocket watch, ticking muffled by a gloved hand. He smiled, the spotlight suiting him. The shadows were for other people.

Premonitions

Ashley Heathers hoped she woke up because of the storm that was raging outside. There was thunder rumbling, and lightening occasionally lit up the sky, painting trees and buildings in silhouette. The flimsy hotel curtains were not quite enough to keep out the light. Still, to be sure she grabbed the pistol from under her pillow, and grabbed her flashlight, and shone it under the bed. Only when she was sure nothing lurked beneath did she lapse back into the pillows and duvet.

The sheets were damp with her sweat, and something danced right on the corner of her memory. Had she been dreaming? What had she been dreaming of? God, the wind was loud. It could have been screaming. But then this old hotel was full of noises, and when you had lived a life like hers, you heard distress in all of them.

She went to the bathroom, clicking on the light, and washed her face in cold, cold water. She held her own gaze in the mirror, dripping wet. She looked a state. Hair growing out of dye, dark circles under her eyes - she couldn’t remember the last time she had gotten a decent nights sleep. Too long. She found herself falling asleep in the day - in cars, buses, whenever she sat down in a place that was warm and quiet. Maybe she needed some pills. Maybe she needed a fucking day off.

The shower curtain twitched, and with a noise quickly muffled, she turned, batting it aside to point the pistol inside. Nothing. Nothing but a moth, fluttering futilely at the plastic. Her heart hammered painfully hard. She was losing it. For a moment she thought, she thought -

“Violet.” Fuck. She was going mad.

A Whisper and a Galaxy Away

Her dress was sprinkled with diamonds, looking like the stars she could not see. She sipped the amasec, staring out over the faux-balcony, sensing the nebulae swirling in the distant dark. It wasn’t like seeing, it wasn’t like anything that could be described. To have a galaxy occupying a part of your brain, in concept even if not in actuality, was a little overwhelming. The astronomicon flickered and danced, present as it always was.

She heard him enter, the compressed air gently hissing as the door opened. She straightened her back, not turning. Let him come to her. He made enough demands, she was off the clock. He couldn’t ask anything from her.

He was typical in a lot of ways. A young noble, arrogant and beautiful, talented enough but not enough to be really setting himself apart. He would find some cushy post somewhere safe or die somewhere tragically young, his name little more than a obituary in a holopaper. Contrary to the implications, she didn’t dislike him. She was sad for him, in an abstract sort of way. He would never be extraordinary, and he would never know real sacrifice or pain. He would never fully know the Emperor’s light, nor the price tag it carried.

She wanted him to. She wanted that more than anything.

He stood beside her, clinking his glass with hers.There was companionable silence between them for a long moment, not filled with the inane chatter of the party they had just left. He flexed his mechanical hand - a nervous habit she had noticed. What was he nervous about? “Beautiful, isn’t it?” She had to bite her lip to prevent herself from laughing. It wasn’t the most original opening. In a sudden flash she felt a wave of hurt from him. He was a sensitive young man who masquarded it as gravitas. “I’m sorry. Yes, it is. It’s not something you should get used to I feel. Too many captains lose their eye for beauty.”

“Hm. The universe is a beautiful and terrible place.” “And let me guess. The beautiful places are the work of the Emperor and all else is the work of chaos.”

“Of course.” He looked genuinely surprised, and she was struck again by how very naive he was. She envied it, in a way. This universe would break him, one way or another, as it broke everyone. But for now he was whole and unharmed. She finally turned to him, a smile playing upon her lips.

“Did you get bored of the party?” “It got a little loud for me.” He looked briefly troubled, then shook his head, ridding his mind too quickly for her to read. “What about you?” Accidentally, she mirrored his head shake. “I don’t belong there. Not really.” She hated the stares, she hated the whispers, she hated standing on her own. She hated the noble that owned her, sorry, owned her contract parading her around as something exciting to look at.

“Hey, if I say you belong there, you belong there.” He caught her hand, the sudden contact startling and almost astoundingly intimate. The only person that ever touched her was her employer, and this was not that. This was welcome, and warm, borne out of somebody’s concern for her. She suddenly got a flash of another world. One so close she could almost touch it. One where she would fall in love. One where she would pull him close, and kiss him with no time for fear. One where she might, if she liked, bear his children. Or perhaps he would bear some instead. They would have a life together, a shared road, a future. It was so close.

She pulled her hand away. It was her duty not to be a moral hazard. She had to be careful of the untainted. She could not damage them. “I think you ought to get back to the party sir.” Her voice was cold, and she turned her eyes back to the wide wide universe. “I shouldn’t keep you.”

Shocked, startled, and a little ashamed, he nodded, stiffly, downing the rest of his drink and leaving her alone to stare at the stars.

#prompts #larp #prose #drabbles

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