All Deviations
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Intercepts“Don't do it, brother,” said Luc, popping the last chip into his mouth.          “Come on,” Jean protested. As if in cue, the warning 'Insecure Area', which was traveling back and forth along the length of the cafeteria table, slid between them. “Come on,” Jean repeated, softer. “What harm could it do?”          Luc cocked his head. “You want a list?”          “Look, she hasn't even done anything,” said Jean. “The only reason she's on the array is because of automatic traffic analysis, and she's only a Class I Intercepts
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RenaissanceIt was said that a pair of pre-teen twins in Hungary were as good, if not better, than Mozart.   
 In Slovenia, the nine year-old Polona Kopitar had already surpassed Picasso.   
 Even Mali, the homeland of teenage percussion prodigy Ubunttu Traore, was experiencing a Renaissance.   
 Looking enviously over their shoulders, neighboring countries shrugged off the new wave of art. It would happen to them, said the United States, said Canada, said England, said France. Good for the small nations. It was their time.   
 But in their much bigger, glamorous and altogether impressive meetin Renaissance
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She DissappearsIlona walked through the dank alley, letting her heals click and clak against the ground.  She was lost in her own thoughts once more.  As she walked, the childhood that she had come so far to escape, haunted her once more.  The memories of her darkened past, of the things she and her sister had to endure gripped at her heart like a bear trap bites into a creature's leg.  Tears threatened to sting her eyes as she choked them back, not wanting to remember that anymore, begging anyone high in the heavens that she didn't have to think about it anymore.  She helped people now.  She was u She Dissappears
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The InformerI saw him only briefly through the crowds of outer city tourists on day passes to Notre Dame.  He didn’t fit, his longer coat, unshaved face and oily snake like dreadlocks standing out from the gaggle of sycophants worshipping a dead church.   
I knew it was him.  It was Marc, a man with a normal name but an unnormal career.  The last time I had seen him was in a corner of a café in the warren of the old Gare Du Nord station.  I still remembered the moment when he leaned across the table and tapped me once on the side of my face as he muttered ‘There will be no guards at the drop off point, Mo The Informer
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Club 71It was time, he'd been watching the minutes on his watch tick by for what seemed an eternity, the noisy bar chaotic around him. Surfacing from his thoughts he abruptly stood up, walking over to the doors he noticed an argument, near to the doorway stood a beautiful woman, her long blonde hair and high cheekbones accenting her features, as he drew closer he noticed that she was arguing, quite heatedly, with one of the Club's bartenders. From previous trips to Club 71, by far his favourite place to drink, he thought the bartender's name was Dimitri, though he couldn't bring his second name to mind. He hesitated at the door, wondering if he shou Club 71
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21, passage verdeaux21, Passàge Verdèaux   
an inner noìr by Marco Infussi   
e-book on www.amolenuvolette.it/pdfs/21.htm   
www.amolenuvolette.it  w.graphique@alice.it   
abstract:  a misterious man loosely connected to 2054 paris society behaviours.  a soul in deep contrast with the time in which lives.  a strong spiritual sensibility.  wandering with auditive hallucinations, he undertakes a journey that is the metaphor of his entire life.  until alone, suffering this pain, he crosses the tunnel wrong way.   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Paris, 205 21, passage verdeaux
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The Closest Light...“The Closest Light Casts the Darkest Shadow”   
 
Vanity was never a foreign thing among humanity; beauty was appreciated then as it was now. The changing times, however, would bring with it an insatiable thirst for timeless beauty. Although beauty was, as they said, in the eye of the beholder, the beholder was constantly accosted by the idea that beauty stemmed from youth. To a further extent, youth was the flagship of longevity – a pampered immortality.     
Immortality was only a few, “easy”, payments away. It was no longer a gift for those so worthy but a product ready to be sold not to the highest bidde The Closest Light...
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Nature De MereParis, 2054. The night was dark and cold, the beginning of winter was close at hand. Soon snow would fall instead of the blanketing sheets of rain that fell upon the twisted and complex labyrinth of Paris. This night would be remembered by all – especially Julian Brenan. The 71 was his favourite bar, not too far from home and not too far from Tour Eiffel subway station where he worked. But as he shook the droplets of rain from his thin, black coat, something about that night sent him vibes of strange origins.   
  He entered calmly, taking a sigh of relief as he passed through the doors, a wave of warmth rushing over his o Nature De Mere
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Renaissance“You never have to die.”  Twin spotlights bearing brilliant white lights shone up at the billboard, creating an angelic glow through the otherwise darkened street.  
The face of Avalon looked down from it, her mouth slightly parted as if she were speaking the words scrawled beside her. Advertisements for Paris most popular corporation made it well known that the model was soon to turn 87. The face that leered down, skin smooth and pale, looked to be a youth, or at least, what used to be considered a youth.  
Bislane read the slogan with a sneer. The glock in her hand had just proved that death could come from many other ways th Renaissance
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Melting eye candyTim was never an ugly duckling, but at the age of 45 he has reached the zenith of his beauty. His skin is glowing, eyes are bright. His hair flops like in TV commercials, shinning from the roots to the very ends. You can put him under a microscope and examine and I bet my Avalon Day Cream that you wouldn’t find a single wrinkle. That man is a modern Dorian Gray, shop windows fall in love with him and women fight for his sperm. Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all except for Timothy Rivers? Google, Google who has the whitest teeth? Exclude ‘Timothy Rivers’ from your results. He is a product of 2054, a perfect example of ma Melting eye candy
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Porcelain SmilePorcelain Smile   
 
In the end, it comes down to one thing. A body.  Sometimes you start a bit higher than that. Police work has all sorts of ways to get down to that last factor. It always ends up as a body though, dead or alive. When you’re staring down at that body, you know exactly what you should have done, when you should have done it, who you should have left alone and who you should have shot. When the body is lying there in front of you and there’s nothing left to do, you have only regrets. Just as the body had its life flash before its eyes, you have what came before flash by yours, and you’ve never done enough. &nbs Porcelain Smile
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Paris Sleeps"Does anybody else know about the Protocol?"  Dellenbach is nervous, fidgeting.  Outside the window Paris is dark and frigid.  The City of Light is an ugly echo of its former self.  People are afraid.  You're afraid.  Turning my attention back to Dellenbach, I tell him not to worry. Slowly and carefully enunciating each word, I tell him it will all be over.  Soon.   
Welcome.  Welcome to a world beauty and corruption are valued above all else.  The year. It doesn't matter.  The setting, glass floors and a walled-in city. That doesn't matter either.  You might want to think this Paris Sleeps
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An Old Friend's New FriendsA snowflake landed on his nose. When that one melted into a fine drop, another took it's place. Several snowflakes later a drop fell off his nose onto his old leather jacket. It rolled down, fused with the ones already on it to lengthen it's journey, until it finally reached the bottom. From there it hung, like a chameleon ready to shoot it's tongue at any passing fly, nearly invisible, unnoticeable. But, unlike the chameleon, the little drop of water wasn't waiting for flies. It was simply holding on. Not for or because of anything or anyone. In some sense it didn't really matter, considering that, as soon as Marc moved, the drop, unable to An Old Friend's New Friends
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VisibilityFree to go anywhere. Always followed.  A claustrophobic feeling looms underneath the night sky. Outside but unable to fly.  Eyes on my back. I can turn around but see nothing. Only to be seen myself. There is no escape, no choice but to continue. Go on, keep my mind off all else. When I stop, I will fall.   
I can feel the breath of the lifeless cameras. They know me better than I do.  I might not be in the spotlight, but I am still dimly illuminated. Even if he is being tailed by more, there are still a few who trace me. Never alone. Always lonely.   
[------------------------------------------------------- Visibility
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Renaissance Short Story
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A night in ParisI’ve heard that before you die your entire life flashes before your eyes. I guess it was comforting then that all I could see was the barrel of a dripping wet 58. I know I gave away the fear I was feeling as most of my body lay motionless on the floor. Hints of music from the 71 were drowned in the agonising rumble of the sheets of incessant rain. So close. And yet here I was, sitting, helpless, and only half-praying, with no control over my shivering body. If only I had the courage to look further than the barrel maybe I would’ve seen the innocent, apologetic eyes of my assailant. A twinkle that said there was hope for me. There was still a A night in Paris
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MauriceParis seemed darker that night for some reason.     Not that Maurice leSage noticed; he had things to do. Important things. He sighed, and stared at the chemical formula he had been working on for the last twenty hours. He just needed to find the last element to combine, and the solution would be complete.    "Another all-nighter?" a female voice said behind him, startling Maurice. He turned around to see a blonde-haired woman in a white lab coat that matched his. Her name was Valerie Jaune, and Maurice hated her. He didn't know why, but something about her seemed...odd.     Maurice pushe Maurice
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In the endHa! Look at them. Crazy...crazy... Crazier than me, they are! Well, try walking the earth as long as I have and see who you're calling crazy, anyway. But I'm not the problem...it's them. With their baby faces...slick skins, stretched too tight across corrupted souls that should have left this plane long ago.  
Horrid creatures. Their desperation shines out from behind their eyes: eyes too bright, too wide, not seeing the truth of this place. I see it, yes, I do. I see them every day, going past my home, tight skirts, opened shirts...fashion has gotten a lot more revealing now that everyone looks perfect, heh.  
Not me! Never! You wo In the end
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A Narcissus for the Modern AgeA Narcissus for the Modern Age   
 
“You just can’t help yourself, can you?  You sit up here and marvel at the glory which you see as your creation.  Avalon, and through it this city, though great, are not so great as they seems to you.”     “And why shouldn’t I admire?  This is an Eden of my own design.  The past, the present, and the future; each is dissected for its highest qualities and combined to serve a near eternal populace.  Learning, advancement, achievement, all the things we search for as humans are combined here, and nowhere else.”   “So you see yourself as god now, creating as you see fit?  Or A Narcissus for the Modern Age
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Adrien D'MerteAdrien was in his mid 60’s and unlike too many people in the year 2054 he looked his age. He wore an old set of glasses that didn’t quite fit his prescription anymore and seemed to purposefully wear old dull clothing that was loosing its colour. When he walked his back arched forward in a hunch and kept his hands in his pockets. Often people would comment on how his dusty old glasses would hide his eyes in poor lighting but he paid them no heed, it was almost as if he liked it that way. His mouth was curved slightly downward, falling into a natural scowl as his skin hung in his face making it look longer, and tired. As he grew older he’d seen Adrien D'Merte
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CHOICE
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just a ordinary caseLéon was smoking his fifth cigarette of this evening leaning to an old wall full of graffiti. Only a few meters down the street there was a big restaurant for important people in paris. Lèon not even dreamed to can eat on one of that luxurious tabels, but this evening he was observing the guests with the highest concentration possible. For a moment he closed his eyes and tought about the reason of this strange behavior. Like an old black and withe film the pictures of his past flew in his mind.  
 
***   
[michelangelo] léon?  [lionheart] yes?  [michelangelo] it’s time to render us the favor we made you  
[l just a ordinary case
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We Be Burnin"We be burnin, not concernin what nobody wanna say..."   
On the corner of Boulevard Ney and Rue de la Chappelle, a warehouse stands, completely devoid of visible activity. It's silence is as abundant as the dirt on it's walls. The ever so many 99 eurocent paint jobs have created an extra layer around the structure's interior. So thick is it, that if one is lucky, one can witness the popping of a gecko's head out of the nest it inhabits withing the paint.   
One hour, two hours, 3 hours, 4 hours, 5 hours, 6 hours, 7 hours...   
The time is 02:40. The air is dense with pollen from the spring, and early dew from th We Be Burnin
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The Business of Murder
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