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I stood on the tarmac watching the Stella Rose flip and begin its graceful arc on her way to the surface. It never ceases to amaze me, the beauty of a well engineered rocket designed to traverse the space between Earth and Mars, stop, unload, load, refuel, repeat. SpaceX had grown into the most powerful
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“Class,” the teacher spoke with authority, “I’d like you to welcome our guest, renowned author, Mr. Huff. He is not only the author of some of your favorite books, but he was also a history teacher before becoming a writer. Please, give him a warm Tiger welcome!” The class offered up a spattering of half-hearted
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“What was that?” I asked aloud, my own voice echoing back to me in a sinister whisper not my own, as though someone stood in the shadows mocking me. Turning around to study my surroundings once again in the flickering torchlight, I saw only the damp, moldy walls of the lowest dungeon. With each step
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The bookstore went almost unnoticed as Kali shuffled by. I say shuffled, because Kali was deep in a funk, a treacherous, black funk, the morose sort that consumes your every thought, dragging you down into a dark whirlpool of despair. It was just this sort of funk that had Kali shuffling down that particular street