In literature, a serial is a printing format by which a single larger work, often a work of narrative fiction, is published in smaller, sequential installments. The installments are also known as numbers, parts or fascicles, and may be released either as separate publications or within sequential issues of a periodical publication, such as a magazine or newspaper.
Serialization can also begin with a single short story that is subsequently turned into a series. Historically, such series have been published in periodicals. Popular short stories series are often published together in book form as collections.
At about 7:30 A.M., Frank pulled into the HIHS parking lot and got into a long vehicle line at the gate for clearance to enter. He noticed that across the street there were three churches. One was a Methodist church, another was a Mormon Temple, and the other one was a Catholic Church. He thought more about it and it seemed like they were built like that on purpose to surround the school.
“Good morning Mr. Nickels,” the guard shack man said as he showed him his ID.
So now Frank is in a Dormitory. Everything seems to be in slow motion. The fog is thick and covering everything from the ceiling to the floor. He can hear what sounds to be laughter. Like a little girl’s laugh. It sounds so sweet and reminds him of the times he spent with his niece and a funny book on dogs.
He can barely make out the two front offices on the right side when first entering the dorm. There’s also a large tan double door way on the left that leads into the living room. Frank slowly and carefully makes his way into the living room. It has four big brown couches in a U formation, two beige love seats, an old dark wooden table, a vending machine, and a glass entertainment center with an old forty inch, perhaps original flat screen TV and Blu-ray player underneath. Some people are sitting on the couches and watching the old 90’s College sitcom “A Different World” on TV. It’s hard to make out who they are, but upon further inspection they look like four elder Native American women. Each was wearing a different colored dress with a Native American geometric pattern on it. The elder woman on one end couch wore brown. The woman to her right wore yellow. The next one red and the last one on the opposite end couch was in blue.
He passed a street performer dressed like an old Wizard when he said, “Hey buddy, I’ll trade you something for those cookies.” His voice had a very none threating and playful tone that at the same time hid something a little dark, questionable and possibly irritating. The old robe he wore was darkly purple, almost to the point of being black. His feet were not visible and his appearance gave the illusion that he was floating.
Nice trick, Will thought, his costume isn’t half bad even with the fake beard.
William looked at him funny and then laughed a little. He replied, “I’m not trying to get any weed OK. I’m just going home.”
“Who said anything about weed? I’ve got something much better,” his aged voice enthusiastically declared while he waved his right hand over his left hand, which was kept balled into a fist. Slowly he opened his fist and turned it around to reveal a small dark purple metal container the size of those curiously strong breath mints that you get from the gas stations. Upon further inspection, Will noticed he had a real beard. It wasn’t a fake. It was long, braided, and the braids were bundled together in a strange way that made it stand upwards and settle somewhat in front of his chin. It had streaks of red, yellow, green, and blue. This guy was really weird looking. For a very short second, Will could swear that the blue hairs were actually waving at him as if they had a mind of their own.
While walking away, Will told him, “That’s alright buddy I’ll do fine with these cookies.” Then he stopped, thought about it for a second, turned back around, and decided to give him the cookies because he never wanted the nasty rocks in the first place.
When he came back, the wizard’s weird braided beard wasn’t active any more, it was pointing straight down and all the individual colored sections were now unbundled.
Its 7:30pm. His long hour and a half journey on the Interstate-10 East freeway has finally ended. William, is parking his 2010 gray KIA Sportage into a parking spot in front of a red bricked sidewalk. He gets out, stretches, locks his car, then starts walking. The sidewalk leads to a colorful Art Walk in downtown Pomona, California.
He decided to stop by a local bookstore he had always seen passing by, but never explored. Maybe a stroll around the store would take his mind off of the horrible workday he just had.
The Pomona Arts Colony is approximately four city blocks jammed packed with arts and crafts stores, antiques shops, and thrift and vintage establishments. Multiple Art Galleries continuously display new Avant Garde paintings, sculptures, and exhibits. Event tickets tend to sell out quickly.