One of These Doomsdays, Chapter Eight

She was short and plump with long blonde hair held back in an off-center scrunchy. Her ponytail jutted to the right. The gasmask completely covered her face and made her voice sound electric.

“Who the hell are you?”

She adjusted the bag of groceries in her left hand while keeping her gun pointed at them. Felix held up his hands. Gretel kept hers on her hips.

“I’m Felix. This is Gretel.”

“Are you zombies?”

“Do we look like fucking zombies?” asked Gretel.

“Don’t know. Not really sure what zombies look like. Hadn’t seen any until today.”

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Legends (short fiction)

Korak the Bold woke with an arrow sticking through his head. He suspected something was wrong immediately. The goddess of death walked among the corpses, collecting souls and stuffing them in her bag. From one angle, she appeared as a seductive young woman. From another, a withered old crone. And from just the right viewpoint, she looked like both at once.

“Oh, hello. I was wondering when you’d wake.” She gathered a small gray soul into her hand and studied it with her hollow eyes. “This one’s hardly worth my time.”
Korak surveyed the dead piled around him in the pass. Two dozen soldiers. All killed by his hand as he bought precious time for his retreating unit.

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One of These Doomsdays, Chapter Seven

The cat was surprisingly relaxed about being shoved into Felix’s duffle bag.

“Do you really have to take that with us?” asked Gretel.

He scratched the cat’s ears. “We can’t just leave it. It might be the only other living thing on Earth.”

“Ants are alive.”

“The last living thing that doesn’t want to eat us,” countered Felix.

“If you died, that cat would eat you,” said Gretel.

“I’m pretty sure if it came down to it, you’d eat me,” he said.

He didn’t expect her to deny it.

And she didn’t.

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Puzzle Pieces (writing)

Not everything in a story is a mystery meant to be solved.  There’s a difference between a plot hole and a deliberately ambiguous point.  This has become lost lately as writers and audiences have taken to analyzing every little moment for signs of greater significance.  One of the great things about the internet is that it allows us to easily find people who share our interests.  One of the bad things is that it allows us to overanalyze the smallest details in hopes of discovering some terrific secret.  Some writers even enjoy playing that game now.  Some creators have become masters of the art form, where EVERYTHING means something else.  More creators have become masters of emulating the art form, where EVERYTHING looks like it should mean something else, but when it ultimately doesn’t, everybody is talking about something else so it no longer matters.

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