Jazz, Monster Collector in: Of Fai, Fire, and Fur (season 1, episode 6)

By RyFT Brand

Jazz, Season One, Episode Six

Jazz is the grips of a mean little troll named Boss Geeter, a self-proclaimed crime leader in a world officially free of crime. Jazz is still week, tired, hungry, and hurt from her latest string of misfortunes, and Geeter has no qualms about inflicting pain in order to extract information. But Jazz isn’t one to talk, even if a little torture and death is inflicted.

Jazz still has one hope, a little friend in her pocket that just might be her rescuer...or only bury her in deeper.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tricorner Publishing
• Release date: Dec 6, 2011
• ISBN: 9781452478296

RyFT Brand

RyFT Brand is one of the pen names of writer Robert F Thompson. He lives, writes, wonders, and wanders from Bucks County, Pennsylvania. His first novel, A Book of Beginnings was published in 2001. he's just so weird.

Book preview

Jazz, Monster Collector in:

Of Fai, Fire, and Fur

season one, episode six

RyFT

Tricorner Publishing’s Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2011

Cover Painting by

Lisa Marie Raezer

Illustrations by

T.A. Cuce’

This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to

persons living or dead are purely coincidental.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

JAZZ, Monster Collector

Season One: Earth’s Lament

RyFT

Episode-5: Of Fai, Fire, and Fur

I knew I was dreaming because the sun was shining, and in my life all it ever did was rain.

I was called Jazz then, I was a deferred species bond collector, which was a polite way of saying monster hunter which was a polite was of saying monster exterminator. I never cared much about being polite, but Parry, my secretary/business manager seemed to feel differently.

I was sitting on a bleach-white sandy beach, under a shining sun, with the waves lapping at my feet and soaking the end of my long, pleated skirt. In the distant haze stood a tall, crumbled stone tower, the remnants of an ancient light-house that had been intentionally and brutally destroyed. I knew because I was the one who’d blown the accursed thing up, but that’s a story for another dream.

For most of my life dreams have meant a lot more than pointless firings of random brain synapses and bits of underdone potatoes. What they usually are is messages and warnings, and once there, inside the dream, I can choose how I move around