... the birds. “Jack. If you’re looking up my skirt, I swear I shan’t ever speak to you again.” The reply, if there ever was one, is lost as the breeze stills. A symphony of cicadae sings their praises to the sweltering Indian sun. Out of the corner of her eye, Rose sees the flash of red above her, still flying like a flag. Spurred onwards, she quickly climbs higher, higher, ignoring...

Third of Six

"I've got another one over here!" The shout carried over the din of cicadae, as surreal as the searchlight reaching jagged shadows across the stagnant pond. The air was thick, heat stewed and saturated with sticky-sweet decay. They'd found little Becky Turner, her left arm severed, tangled in the reeds.

Extreme Cuisine is (somewhat) like BDSM Edge Play

... saps: maple, birch, aspens, slippery elm, basswood, poplar, spruce, willows (the young leaves of willows make a good salad ingredient), etc. ~ deep fried tarantulas/scorpions ~ honey roasted cicadae/locusts ~ deep fried baby field mice ~ spit roasted curry rat ~ odori-gui - live Japanese lobster sashimi ~ raw whale blubber, Inuit/Eskimo style and legally hunted ~ native herb-...