AWKWARD ZOMBIE

That is quite possibly the strangest sentence of approval ever uttered.

YES YOU POSTED IT HERE~<3

WHOOPS MORE DORF FORT


Solosazir was no more remarkable than any other fortress. It did not become a capitol of the land. It attracted some immigrants, but it did not become a beacon for the people. It did not amass a fortune of goods. It did not garner the attention of the elves, nor the humans, past a caravan every so often. It was, however, home to Dumat Lekdol. Dumat did not forge a legendary artefact sword. Nor did he slay an arch demon king. He didn’t single-handedly repel a mighty goblin siege, he didn’t divert a magma flow in the nick of time, and he didn’t tame a meagbeast. In fact, Dumat did very little in his life – but he was the strongest, bravest, most determined dwarf in those lands.

Dumat was one of the seven dwarfs in the initial embark group. He was the lumberjack. It was definitely not the most glamorous or honourable profession, but he wasn’t very bothered. He enjoyed working outside, and he preferred to be alone most of the time. Things could have been a lot worse, really.

Kib, the mason, was fetching some lumber to take to the stockpile when a wolf ambushed him. Obviously, he wasn’t exactly combat-ready; I mean, he’s the mason, why would he be? Dumat heard his screams, and rushed over from a nearby tree to his aid. He despatched the beast fairly quickly, and they both ended up with little to no significant injury.

They made their way back to the fortress to rest for a while, and Dumat’s mind was ablaze. That little fight... he’d enjoyed it. Protecting his friend, helping out with more than just felling trees; he’d found a part of himself he hadn’t known was there. Right then, he decided he was going to continue trying to protect the fortress. Dumat founded Solosazir’s military force as soon as they got back.

Time swept by, and the fortress grew, with immigrants coming in every few seasons. Soon more and more dwarfs were joining the military, and pretty quickly Dumat was in control of quite a few lives. They were fortunate enough to live in a relatively peaceful stretch of country. There were never really any sieges or children snatchers, the only real danger were the rare pack of wild animals. Even then, there were enough soldiers around that Dumat didn’t personally have to take care of anything anymore. His job was becoming more and more administrative.

Dumat was standing at the entrance to the fortress, staring out at nothing in particular, as he so often did when he wished to think. A scout running along in the distance interrupted his thoughts. The lad made his way up to him, well out of breath. Dumat knew him; Inod. One of the new recruits. Fresh into the fortress, no skills at all. They got quite a few of his type in the military. He waited a few moments before putting his hand on the lad’s back, giving some time to catch his breath. Information’s no good if you can’t understand what’s being said. “Well then,” he said with a sigh, “what can I do for you Inod?” He cocked his head up, and Dumat saw what was written on his face. His eyes were as wide as they could get, his cheeks were deathly white and his lips were trembling. Dumat took a step back, starting to worry a little. “Sir...” Inod said between breaths, “sir, it’s a dragon.”

Trembling, Dumat asked him how close it was to the fortress. “Only a few clicks Sir,” replied Inod, rubbing his hands together to try and stop them shaking. “No doubt about it. The thing’s coming here, and it’s going to show up daisies soon.” Dumat turned away so the lad couldn’t see his face. A dragon? Here? Now? They weren’t ready. They couldn’t have been. Hell, was anybody really ready for that sort of thing? How are you supposed to equip for something like this? There was no way they were getting through this without losing men. Dumat snapped back, and grabbed Inod by the arms. “Look here lad,” he said, eerily calmly, “you go right now to the barracks as fast as your feet can take you. Send the word out. Every single dwarf in this place that can wear some chain and hold a sword is to gather out the front here. I don’t care what they’re doing; if they’re giving birth, they can do it here. Every dwarf that can, comes. Understand?” He nodded and ran inside the fortress, leaving Dumat alone.

Armok was a tricky bastard, that’s for sure. Dumat was getting tired of the administrative work, so out comes a dragon of all things. He snorted a mirthless laugh, and looked out at the hills. Nothing there yet. They still had a few moments. He surveyed the area in front of the fortress. There was a large valley, which left a narrow path that trailed toward the entrance, maybe about three caravans wide. It would have been ideal for a few ballistae above on either side of the valley, just waiting to rain hell down, or even just some measly rock traps dotted around, but they didn’t have time for that. They should have planned ahead, but how were they supposed to see this coming? A jump from a few stray wolves every other week to a dragon attack wasn’t something anybody could have called.

There was chattering behind him. Dumat glanced over. Dwarves had been arriving while he was lost in thought. Taking his helmet off and clutching it to his chest, he walked along, looking them up and down. They were good soldiers. He knew most of them personally, and the rest he knew impersonally. More civilians had showed up than he had expected. Butchers, miners, tanners, carpenters... even a jewel crafter here and there, to his surprise. They were the type that had always looked down at him a little, in his lumberjack days. Not to say that they’d been unhappy times - quite the opposite. It was just always a little crushing to come back to the fortress after a day of hard labour and have the rest of them looking at him like he was one of the humans.

The ground started shaking. Dumat was still facing the entrance, but he could tell what had just happened. One look at the troops, their pupils big as coins, knees quivering like bad cheese on a hot day; it was pretty obvious that the main event had just shown up. Very slowly and very carefully, Dumat turned around.

Everybody had heard the stories. Dragons flew around, terrorising the countryside, burning knights up, stealing princesses, that sort of thing. Seeing one standing there, right in front of you, though - that was something else. It was three stories high, at least, stretching up to the heavens like a spire. It had gigantic, curved teeth that had the shine of old ivory. Its wings were taut and leathery; each spanning much, much further than one would think they ought to. Its claws looked sharp enough to gut a cow from the other end of a field, its muscles were bulging like boulders jutting out of a cliff side, and its oily eyes were alight with the devil’s fire. This was not the sort of dragon that told riddles.

They were all standing there dead still, just staring. It was a timeless moment. The dwarves shocked to their cores, and the dragon watching them with a slightly amused air. It didn’t last. The beast cracked its serpentine neck, sending an echo all over the valley. Then, in an instant, it threw its head back, inhaled sharply, and spouted searing flames out, almost completely drowning the soldiers in an ocean of fiery torment. The dwarves gave a mighty battle cry, and charged forward, right at the hideous beast.

All but one. Dumat hadn’t moved a muscle, save a violent eye twitch. It was too much. He couldn’t do it. He didn’t want to die. Dumat turned around and run. He ran back into the fortress as fast as he could. The smell of charred flesh, boiling blood and death surrounded him, filling his lungs, overpowering his mind. Behind him he heard all the good, honest people he knew fighting and dying, but he still ran on, past the barracks, past the workshops, past the stockpiles and straight into his room. Dumat locked the door, fell to the ground, and wrapped his arms around his legs, curling up into a little ball. He lay there, staring at the wall, trying not to listen to the suffocating noise of his friends getting slaughtered and devoured by that horrible ancient monster. He lay there and he wept.

The fortress only just survived the attack. One of the soldiers landed a lucky hit in the dragon’s eye with their spear, and the foul beast retreated back into the skies. The few dwarves who survived the initial encounter died later of their wounds. They were the lucky ones. Dumat, on the other hand, was not looked on quite so kindly by Armok. He sank deep into depression. After the rest of the fortress had found out what had happened, he’d been discharged from the military that he’d started from the ground up. They took his office, and gave him a tiny, dank cramped room with barely enough space to stand up in. Dumat spent his waking hours stumbling to the stockpiles and drinking until he passed out, or crying in his little hovel.

Two years passed like this. More immigrants had come to the fortress, swelling its numbers back up from what was lost in the battle. A new military force was drafted, but with nobody to teach them they did not make much progress. A mayor had been elected, and the beginnings of an economy were in place. The higher-ups didn’t pay much attention to the smaller details, but the numbers start to add up after two years, and people started asking what that one little dwarf had been contributing to offset the barrels of liquor he downed every day. Every once in a while, they sent somebody down to his little hovel to discuss things further, but they always came back beaten half to death, with their mouths firmly closed.

Then the news came. A caravan hailing from one of the human towns stopped by the fortress. After relaxing a little with some drinks, the traders mentioned that there had been reports of a grizzled old one-eyed dragon about a month’s ride away. The dwarves went white and bought out all of their weapons and armour before sending the humans quickly on their way and running to the mayor to bring the news. They deliberated through the night, ranging from civil conversations to furious roars, but the decision had been clear from the start. They had an untrained, inexperienced mob of soldiers. The dragon was coming, and they couldn’t count on another lucky hit. They needed help.

Dumat was drinking in his room, alone again. Well, he was never really alone. There were always voices. Sometimes faces, too. The drink helped with that, at least a little. He didn’t complain. He didn’t have the right, not anymore. He’d lost it himself. Those days were long gone, and he’d grown to accept his fate. A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. He flung the bottle at it, shattering glass everywhere in his puny disgusting room. “Dumat.” It was a familiar voice that easily pierced the thin, weak wooden door. “It’s me. Open up.” He rose slowly, and lurched forward the few paces it took to get to the entrance.

It was Kib, the mason, standing there, dressed in the richest finery he had ever seen. Dumat started shaking, and they stood there in silence for a few minutes, neither of them knowing what to say. Then, in an instant, Dumat collapsed onto Kib in a wave of tears. Kib was taken aback – especially when he’d heard what had happened to everybody else had been sent down. After a moment or two of bewilderment, he put his arms around him and they stood there for what seemed an age.

Eventually he stopped sobbing, and straightened up a little. Kib nodded and patted him on the shoulder before starting again. “Dumat, I don’ know if you heard the news or not, but... well, it isn’t good.” He scratched his head and spat on the ground. “Out with it, then,” he replied gruffly, with a voice that sounded like it had been drowning for years. Kib sighed, and put his arm around Dumat’s back, leading him up the stairs to the rest of the fortress. “Let’s go for a walk, shall we?”

They made their way past some of the stockpiles. Dumat felt hundreds of eyes on him, all of them silently judging him, all of them mocking him. Some of them weren’t so silent. “Let’s just get this the hell over with Kib,” he said behind clenched teeth. Kib turned his head back, still walking forward. “Just... hang on,” he muttered with a conspiratorial air. “There’s somewhere we need to go.” They moved quickly through the rest of the fortress, when they passed an all too familiar door. Dumat stopped dead in his tracks and stared at a relic he’d almost entirely forgotten. It was his old office. He put his hand against the wood and closed his eyes. He saw a younger, softer ghost of himself sitting in that chair. The floor wasn’t littered with empty bottles and vomit stains. There was a polished set of fine armour on his chest, and a sword sharp enough to cut rocks at his belt. He put his other hand on his waist, and he could almost feel it again. The only voices where his men laughing in the barracks nearby and the only face was his in the mirror. Oh how young and handsome his face was. There were no scars, there were no bags under his eyes, there were no tears running down his cheek and his beard was short and neatly trimmed.

“Dumat.” Kib’s voice broke his illusion. He snapped his head up, and slowly took his hand off the door. Scoffing, he walked up to Kib and they continued onward. After a few minutes, they came up to a little balcony overlooking some ground out the front of the fortress. Dumat recoiled. It was the first tim he’d seen sunlight in years. Rubbing his eyes, he looked out over the balcony. There were a few dozen dwarves down there in poorly fitting leather armour with antiquated weapons that had seen far too many battles in other’s hands. Kib waited a moment before chiming in. “This is the force Solosazir has at its disposal Dumat. It isn’t pretty, and it certainly isn’t going to win much.” Dumat grunted, still watching them sparring with one another. Seeing them practice was stirring something awake in him that he’d been trying to forget for years.

Kib shook his head and muttered before sighing, and looking off to the side. “Dammit, man,” he exhaled, “the beast is coming back. The humans came by, and they spoke word of a one-eyed dragon about a month away.” Dumat stopped shaking for the first time since Kib had opened the door. He stood there eerily still for the longest of times. Kib was afraid to do anything. Finally, Dumat turned to face him. Kib saw something in those eyes that hadn’t been there before. They were burning with the whitest of flames. Those same eyes that until just now had been home to an ocean of tears and sorrow like no other now seemed like something entirely different. They had the fiery passion of years of torment. It was terrifying to behold, but he couldn’t look away.

Dumat laughed. He cackled. There was no joy in that noise. “So what?” he said bluntly. Kib coughed, and looked away. He’d expected this. “Look, Dumat,” he sighed, “we need you. I know you...” there was a hesitation in his voice now, “...I know you didn’t actually fight it last time, as such, but, well, you’re all we’ve got. You saw it, at least. You saw what they can do. We need you to get them ready.” Dumat started pacing up and down a little, and then he scoffed again. “Oh, you need me, is that it?” he spat out with ire, “you content yourselves with hiding me away in a little stone coffin for a few years, then drag me out again when it suits? Like an old pair of boots? Forget it. That part of me died a long time ago.”

Folding his arms, Kib frowned. “This wasn’t my call, Dumat, but the mayor and some of the other nobles, well, they don’t exactly care for having you in the fortress.” He had a genuine sadness in his voice. “I tried to fight for you, Dumat, but they were pretty adamant. I’m sorry. If you don’t do this, they’re going to exile you.” Dumat stopped pacing, and stared off into the distance for a while. “I don’t care,” he replied softly. “Honest to god, I don’t even care anymore.” He turned back to face Kib. “That’s probably better for everyone. I should’ve died years ago. Most of me did. I don’t have a family to grow old with. I don’t have friends to whittle away the days with, not anymore. I don’t do any work and all I do is drink. Either I’m going to find my way to a lonely grave here, or out there. If I do it out there, at least it’ll be quieter.”

After a brief moment of staring at one another, Dumat broke off and started to walk away. Kib watched him go a few paces before throwing caution to the wind and grabbing him by the shoulders. Dumat started flailing and shouting, but Kib slowly dragged him back to the balcony and shoved his face toward the sparring dwarves. “Look,” he whispered into his ear. “Look at the men down there. Look into their eyes. I could tell you their names, if you’d like. I could tell you who they are, and where they came from. If you don’t help them, they’re all going to die, just like last time.”

Dumat roared and pushed him over onto the ground. He looked back down at the dwarves, who had since stopped what they were doing to stare at him. They were different this time. Now he saw older faces. Familiar faces. Faces he knew were no longer in this world. Burned faces. Scarred faces. Faces that were melting off of their heads. Then he started hearing their cries again. Dumat bit his lip and started to tear up. He cast a glance down at Kib, who was still lying on the floor. “Tell them I’ll be down shortly,” he said in a cold, dead voice.

There were about a few dozen dwarves lined up, all trying to look as stiff as they could. Dumat could tell with one look that none of them had ever seen combat before. There weren’t even any wolves around the area anymore. He paced up and down, shooting them a sideward glance every so often. Eventually he started to speak. “So,” he said calmly, “what do we know about dragons?” Some of the men shuffled their feet, and none of them made eye contact, but one of them squeaked “well, my old Mum, she used to read us stories where they sat around on piles of gold all day.”

Dumat stopped pacing, and slowly walked up to the lad, until they were nose to nose. In a very quiet, very deliberate voice he said “Dragons... are monsters. They are freaks of nature. They are vile, horrible beasts.” The fire in his eyes lit up again, and he started walking back and forth waving his arms around. “Dragons do not want gold. Dragons do not want to talk to you. Dragons are not wise, beautiful creatures. A dragon... will kill you. A dragon will kill you, and all your friends, and burn your home down, and utterly destroy every fragment of your existence. Dragons are terrible, daemonic things and they deserve not a single speck of mercy, or admiration, or glorification.” He came back to the lad who spoke before and shook his finger in his face. “Dragons are monsters. You get all that?” None of them dared breathe, let alone say anything else. They meekly shook their heads until Dumat grunted and turned away.

Every day that month they trained. Dumat barely slept at all. When he wasn’t showing them how to use their weapons, he was telling them. When the rest of them were getting a measly few hours of sleep, he was reading up on dragons, or drawing out battle plans in the barracks, or spending time in the smithy demanding better equipment. He even stopped in with the mechanic and had some tricks installed at the entrance.

Then the day came. Dumat was standing outside the fortress, looking out at nothing in particular, like he had done back in the days. “Sir.” One of his men had appeared next to him. He hadn’t been called sir in quite some time. “What is it, kiddo,” he said back, without looking at him. The lad gulped. “It’s here, sir. We’ve got maybe twenty minutes.” Dumat smiled a mirthless smile, and turned toward him. “Alright lad,” he said with a chuckle, “you get inside and organise everybody in the barracks.” The dwarf nodded, and ran back into the fortress. Dumat stayed right where he was and started laughing again.

A familiar head came into view about three stories above the ground. The beast was back again. It looked about as well as Dumat did these days. It wasn’t glossy anymore. It had huge festered scar over one of its eyes. Its wings were crumpled and old. Its claws were dirty and crooked. Its scales looked flaky and weak. In the things one good eye though, it had the same fire Dumat did.

The dragon lurched forward slowly into the valley. Dumat grinned. He pulled a lever next to the entrance to the fortress. A giant steel gate came crashing down, almost as thick as the mountain itself. He spat on the ground and rubbed his hands together. Now it was just him, and the monster. There wasn’t going to be anymore dwarven blood on his hands. Not this time.

With a roar that echoed across the land, the dragon started stomping forward. Dumat drew his old sword, closed his eyes and screamed. He charged over the ground where his brothers had fought and died. He saw their faces again, covered in blood. Their corpses littered the ground. The death was as heavy in the air as it had been on that day. The voices were different now, though. They weren’t accusing him. They were cheering him. His men were all by his side, and he felt their power inside of him.

Dumat charged the dragon, and Dumat died. He died the death he should have died so many years ago. He died, and the rest of his men lived. The fortress was safe; the dragon could not breach the wall. Everybody won. Dumat was the strongest, bravest, most determined dwarf those lands had ever known.

The Beta Threat was better

Bluggghhh just now finished this; haven't had a chance to go over it yet to take out the glaringly awful parts. It's a little over 10 pages single spaced, so I guess it's pretty long

Richard was a business man at heart, and the end of the known world wasn’t going to change that. Sure, times looked bleak at the moment, but he’d learned a long time ago that getting ahead was less about being in the right place at the right time, although that was certainly part of it. No, Richard was of the opinion that you had to be prepared for when the right time came. Having the foresight to prepare for civilization to take a sharp and sudden nosedive was an exceedingly rare thing, however, so he had expanded his personal philosophy to include versatility as well, which he certainly had in spades. If someone had called Richard smug he would have agreed with him or her wholeheartedly, but would be quick to add that it was not necessarily a terrible thing to have a high level of self-satisfaction. For him at least, it encouraged him to strive to do better so the feeling would stay with him.
Becoming a trader had put him in an excellent position in that regard. Thanks to the desperate times, his own business acumen, and the deals he had made with the various local hostile groups, he had been able to carve a comfortable living for himself. It wasn’t his ideal existence, but he was also certainly aware that he could be doing far, far worse for himself.
Richard allowed himself a small smirk as his donkeys ambled along a deserted highway. It was an indulgence that he was exceedingly poor at resisting and thus the expression commonly occupied his face. He always replaced it with a more neutral expression when doing business of course, but when left to his own devices as he so often was, the slightly haughty grin could reign unopposed.
He swayed back and forth on his slow-moving mount as he raised a bottle of wine above his head, saluting no one in particular before taking a light swig of it. Another luxury he had not yet seen fit to curtail. Richard occasionally gave a halfhearted effort to avoid dipping into his own merchandise like that, but had never experienced any immediate negative consequences from doing so, so such attempts rarely got very far off the ground.
His smirk was temporarily dethroned by a frown. Just what was this, then?
Richard had stumbled across the remains of an apparent battle with multiple dead on both sides. Much like many people he had become somewhat of a vulture in order to survive by picking clean those who hadn’t made it to their After Life, but that didn’t mean he found it particularly enjoyable. Dead bodies were just so creepy and it didn’t take much time at all for them to start stinking to high heaven besides.
Still, Richard was not the sort of man to ignore such a windfall out of sentiment, no matter how distasteful he found it. If he was lucky there might even be some ammo lying around. Heck, maybe even some guns. Such items would inevitably fetch a healthy sum of cheddar. Even if the weaponry had already been taken the clothing was still useful and there would doubtlessly be at least some semi-valuable personal effects to go along with them.
The subtle grin back on his face, Richard patted his mount as he climbed off and prepared to set up camp. Salvaging wasn’t difficult but it could take a surprisingly long time and it was already edging into late afternoon. Besides, it wasn’t as if he had anyplace he was hurrying to get to.
Without much else to do Richard amused himself by coming up with identities for the bodies he was rifling through and a reason for them to have been killing each other way out in the booty-end of nowhere. He thought himself to be a rather creative man, and fashioned a few names and motivations that were quite outlandish. It wasn’t like anyone was going to jump out of the bushes and declare him the winner if he correctly guessed; it was purely a distraction from the distasteful work. Therefore as the shadows lengthened and the bodies began to pick up more of the signature post-mortem scent, his speculations about the bodies became more and more bizarre.
He’d been lucky; whoever had been at the bodies before him had been in a hurry or had never searched a body before. There was ammunition. Not as much as there could have been, sure, but Richard wasn’t about to complain about finding leftovers for absolutely free. No guns though, not that he had expected anyone to be careless enough to leave one behind. They’d be worth their weight in gold if gold still had any value. Heck, maybe more. People had to protect themselves, after all.
Richard sighed as he looked down at a particularly mutilated specimen. Somebody on the other side had managed to land a head shot and it had made a bit of a mess. He decided that he’d rather not try to sleep after looting such a sorry-looking thing and called it a night as far as taking things off of bodies went. There was still a bit more to do before he would be able to get any shuteye.
He was fortunate that keeping watch wasn’t one of those things. While there was no love between him and the barbarians that took slaves he was still a practical man. He’d come to an understanding with them almost as soon as he’d learned of their activities. He gave them a cut of his profits and in return they didn’t capture him or kill him. Sure, they didn’t seem able to resist the urge to rough him up a bit whenever they saw him around, but it was a small price to pay for safety from one of the biggest threats around. Heck, sometimes they would even trade with him.
Richard would always give them the most favorable deal possible, of course. It wouldn’t do to antagonize them by taking advantage of them.
Still, it would be nice if someone got rid of them. They were a bit of a cheddar sink.
Richard didn’t like to think of them much. Going over his travel plans usually got his mind off them though, so he thought he’d do that. After all, people didn’t exactly live for very long if they just went wandering around for any extended period of time.
Using the last of the sunlight, he pulled his tattered map of the general area out of the small worn box it was kept in. Maps were pretty valuable, especially if they were kept more or less current like his was. It was covered with all the additions and deletions he’d had to make as he came across the changes in the landscape during his travels; fairly substantial changes in some places. Some of it was the result of the bombs of course, but much, especially in the cities, was just simple disrepair. Bridges collapsed, trees fell and blocked paths, dangerous animals overran landmarks, etc. Things hadn’t progressed far enough to make maps entirely useless but Richard knew it was just a matter of time. Maybe not even in his lifetime, but it would come. It was sort of sad when he took the time to think about it, which wasn’t very often. Someone had put a lot of effort into the original map and it was all slowly but surely becoming obsolete; heck, it wasn’t even going that slowly.
The last of the natural light in the sky didn’t last long and Richard was soon forced to carefully fold the map back up and place it back into its container. Holding it near the fire just didn’t really seem worth the risk, especially since he’d have plenty of time the next morning to go over it.
This did not mean that he would shirk the rest of his chores, however. The donkeys were tied up in the area the patchy grass looked thickest, rudimentary warning systems were placed around the perimeter (little more than bits of string tied to a bundle of sticks which would rattle loudly if someone accidentally tripped one), a space was cleared on the ground for his unfortunately lime green and blue sleeping bag, among other things. With all of this accomplished, Richard would make one more round to make doubly sure everything was in order. It was undoubtedly boring work, but a little bit of caution would likely do him more good than all the weaponry in the world.
Richard was in the middle of double checking that the donkeys were tied securely when he heard something that made his blood run cold. A howl drifted out of the pitiful wooded area . Wolves hadn’t made out much better than humans during the widespread destruction, but they had most definitely hadn’t been eliminated from the world. In fact since humans had done so well at knocking themselves off of their own pedestal many predators were faring just as well, if not better in the aftermath. Many people were not used to thinking of themselves as being equal to these animals, which tended to make them easy prey. Richard was one of those who had learned quickly that survival was greatly aided by a healthy respect for the various creatures in the world.
This posed a dilemma. Should he hope the wolves had not caught wind of him and remain or pack up as much of the camp as possible before fleeing into the night? Predators had nearly unanimously become more bold and aggressive from lack of sufficient food. Richard wasn’t at all sure that fear of him and his fire would be enough to keep them away from tasty morsels such as himself and his pack animals.
He supposed it was too much to hope for that he hadn’t been noticed. He gripped the butt of his sidearm nervously as he began quickly packing away the things he knew he would need later. Richard frequently glanced around to make sure that he hadn’t been surrounded without noticing, but it was already dark enough to make such efforts nearly futile. It was not the first time he had been unpleasantly reminded of his own helplessness and he fervently hoped it would not be the last. Every single sound made him tense even more. Had the situation not been so dire Richard would have found his bulging eyes and strained face to be ridiculous- even humorous. As it stood, however, packing as quickly as possible and struggling to look in every direction at once easily beat every other thought by a mile.
After a few minutes that seemed to stretch into hours he finally got things packed up and ready to move. He’d be leaving the donkeys behind of course; it wasn’t like wolves would be stealing most of his merchandise. They’d not only slow him down trying to keep them together, but they would also undoubtedly amplify the noise and smell of frightened prey. Assuming he survived the night Richard would come back later and hide what was left from human scavengers until he could come back to retrieve it.
Obviously it was a less than ideal situation, but he didn’t exactly have a lot of attractive options. He’d been through similar dilemmas before. As long as the hiding place wasn’t painfully obvious then the few people who happened to wander through would be none the wiser.
Richard took no time to lament and hurried in the direction he thought was opposite to the one he had heard the howl. He only hoped that he might end up in an area that was at least vaguely familiar but knew that he would have to prepare for the worst; the worst that didn’t involve being chased down and eaten by wolves, at least.
The panicked rush away from the campsite was actually fairly uneventful apart from the cuts and bruises that inevitably come about from stumbling around the woods at night. When an hour of nervous travelling had passed without any notable incidents, Richard began to hope he had simply imagined the whole thing. Still, better safe than sorry; he continued for another half hour before fatigue was able to slightly overtake caution and he found a suitable spot to lie down for the night at the base of a small cliff, if a little uneasily. He thought the cliff might look familiar, but in the early hours of the morning it was still too dark to tell. Still, he judged the risk to be worth it. Richard no longer possessed the full vigor of youth. In all likelihood, trying to pull an all-nighter would mean a full day of unfocused listlessness if he was lucky. If he was unlucky, he might just end up falling in an unconscious heap somewhere. Neither of these options were very attractive when it was entirely possible to be ambushed and killed if he was not fully alert.
Still, sleep was long in coming. The rocky terrain that had made the area so appealing as a defensible position did not make the most comfortable of beddings. Neither did the scare that had sent him running help with the situation. Finally, shifting uncomfortably and trying unsuccessfully to not think of bloodthirsty animals, Richard managed to drift into an uneasy sleep.
~
Richard was not unfamiliar with grogginess, but they were only casual acquaintances at best. He normally made it a habit to get plenty of sleep in order to keep his mind sharp. That particular morning, however, found him unhappily in the grip of that acquaintance. What little sleep he had managed to get had not been particularly restful.
He rubbed his eyes and yawned deeply. Fatigue and discomfort had temporarily chased thoughts of danger from his head. Richard drew his eyebrows together in tired confusion when he saw his makeshift campsite and how it lacked most of his possessions.
Looking up at the cliff face brought it all back; the howl, the panicked packing, and then the escape into the forest. Remembering all that also reminded him that it was going to take up quite a big chunk of the day to find the camp site again and pack it up; not to mention cleaning up whatever mess the wolves had wrought in his absence.
Richard tried to think positive. Maybe the howl had only been in his imagination or, if not, maybe they were already in the middle of chasing some other unfortunate soul. He didn’t really think either of those were the case, but it still cheered him up somewhat to think about. After all, stranger things had happened.
Yawning again, Richard stretched his aching muscles and felt for the map in its usual place in his pack. He blinked in confusion when his hand met nothing but assorted odds and ends. With dawning horror he began tearing at the contents of his pack, eyes wild. Even when the pack was completely emptied he still sat on the ground looking inside it numbly for nearly a minute. When doing that provided no discernable improvement he buried his face in his hands and let out a muffled scream of frustration. While this also did not bring back the lost map, Richard did feel slightly calmer afterwards. Things could have been worse, after all. Not much worse, but he would have to take what he could get. He had a day or two worth of food and a few tools, at least.
Eyeing his pack sullenly, he got up and brushed himself off. He’d have to figure out where he was sometime, so he figured he might as well get it over with.
Richard peered around hopefully. He thought he might recognize a few landmarks. The cliff he had slept under looked sort of familiar, but he hadn’t been through the area enough to be sure. The vague familiarity of only some of the surroundings made him feel like he was constantly almost having déjà vu. The frustration that had been temporarily placated returned full force. Richard let out another yell as he kicked at his pack savagely. When he realized that he was repeatedly bashing the only supplies he had left he forced himself to lean against the cliff until the rage whirling around his mind was able to cool again.
To temporarily help take his mind off of his problem, he picked up his pack and examined the damage. It wasn’t all that extensive on the outside; he had, after all, chosen it for its durability. Its insides were a different story. One can of beans had been completely demolished along with his tomatoes, coving much of the rest of the contents in a thick brown and red gruel. His pair of binoculars had been snapped in half, although he counted himself lucky that he hadn’t cracked the glass. The pistol seemed alright, but he was no firearms expert so he wouldn’t be able to know for sure until he actually used it. His compass, knife, electric lighter, flashlight, and the rest of his food seemed none the worse for wear, much to his relief.
With a sigh Richard began cleaning off his meager possessions. It was slow going without a towel or anything similar, but eventually he managed to get everything but what was wedged in various cracks and the residual stickiness. It would serve until he was able to find a source of water to rinse everything off more thoroughly.
Richard looked upon what was left of his property with a frown and shaded his face with his hand from the noon sun. It seemed there could be no more putting off the inevitable; he needed to get moving. The question was, in which direction? It had been very dark when he had gone running in fright and his head hadn’t exactly been clear so it was difficult to tell where he had come from and his unfamiliarity with the territory certainly didn’t help matters.
He thought the area to his right might look like someone had recently stumbled through in terror which made it slightly more likely to take him someplace useful. Without having anything more to put it off, Richard started reluctantly trudging through an unfamiliar wilderness.
Any kind of familiarity he had thought he saw almost immediately disappeared; the dead trees and underbrush very quickly turned into a monotonous blur. Richard severely wished he knew something of tracking beyond looking for a bright neon sign pointing the way. He thought he might be seeing a few more broken branches in the direction he was heading than in the surrounding area, but he knew that it could very well be simply wishful thinking. It certainly didn’t help that he remembered running for quite a while the night before, meaning it would also be some time before he knew whether or not his guess had been right. At least he was relieved to recall that he hadn’t thought to throw any zigzags or sharp turns while he had been running. While it might have been a good idea to do so as he was possibly being chased, it would have made it virtually impossible to find his way back without his map.

Several hours passed before Richard realized that he was even more lost than he had previously suspected. Not only did he not know where his campsite was, he didn’t even have a vague clue about where he was. The compass told him he was heading northwest which, depending on the direction he had been running the night before, could very possibly have put him pretty far outside his normal travelling zone. His inability to recognize any landmarks seemed to lend credence to that idea.
What brought this disorientation to his immediate attention was the fact that he was very near to reaching the edge of the forest. While this wasn’t exactly ideal in that it meant he was truly lost. The silver lining, however, was that once he left behind the severely restricted line of sight of the forest he might be able to spot something familiar, or even some sign of civilization. If he could reach a city maybe he could find an un-looted map to get back his bearings. While this meant that his cargo would almost certainly be looted by the time he was able to find it again, he wanted to try to look at the bright side of things.
Richard squinted at the afternoon sky to try and figure how much daylight he had left. He was no expert by any means, but it looked as though he might have between one and three hours of solid light to go on; enough to get out of sight of the hateful forest, at least. The combination of staring at the bright sky and his lack of sleep caused him to launch into a long yawn. Maybe it would be best to just call it a day. If he kept going it was possible that he might have to sleep right out in the open, a prospect no survivor would look forward to. Richard tried to rub the fatigue from his eyes with very little success.
If there was one nice thing about travelling with so few supplies, it was that it was very easy to unpack. Very soon a small pit had been dug, mostly with his bare hands. He had experimented with using sticks and his knife for a little while, but found it to be maddeningly slow. His hands would likely be sore for the rest of the night and part of the next day, but at least he had somewhere to build a fire without having to worry about burning the whole place down. Richard wiped some sweat from his forehead with annoyance and decided that any rest he took at this point would be well deserved. He’d just lean up against a nearby tree until he cooled down a little bit; giving himself sunstroke wasn’t going to do anyone any good, least of all himself; and if he found just precisely the most comfortable position in a groove in that tree, well then so much the better.
Sleep was upon him before he even knew how tired he was.

He awoke to the sound of howling. Richard and grogginess were growing much too accustomed with each other for his taste lately, but that sound cut through it almost immediately.
“Son of a bitch, you’ve gotta be kidding me!”
It was fully dark at that point, rendering his wild eyed attempt to spot anything dangerous around him useless. Richard gritted his teeth in anger and frustration . Was there not an ounce of goddamn fairness in the world?
Barely even taking the time to form a coherent thought he dove forward, scooping into his arms whatever random possessions happened to be in front of him. In his sleep deprived state it didn’t occur to him that the sound he heard might have just been a nightmare that stemmed from last night’s misadventures, but he wouldn’t have taken his chances even if it had. Richard didn’t believe in gambling with his life.
He scrambled forward through the fallen branches on the ground, suffering several deep scratches which he did not notice. What he did notice was a rustling suddenly rising around him, confirming his fears. In his rush he slammed his shoulder into a tree, sending him spinning to the ground. He sobbed as he miraculously managed to get back onto his feet without dropping any of his cargo.
With his feet finally planted semi-firmly on the ground Richard wasted no time in taking off in a panicked dead sprint. Malevolent branches slashed at his face as he ran while roots tangled underfoot. He fell once again, this time as a result of one of the roots. One of the items in his arms went flying ahead of him, but he didn’t dare try to recover it once he had regained his footing; he could practically feel his pursuers’ hot, panting breath at his back.
Finally he broke through the tree line and into the open plain. While it was true that he held very little hope for outrunning whatever was chasing him, he knew that he stood a much better chance than if he remained in the woods and continued running into things in the dark.
When he remembered to scan his surroundings as he ran Richard let out another sob, this one of joy. A town! Civilization! As far as the wildlife had come in evening the odds with humans, they still almost unanimously remained incapable of besting a good old wooden door, at least not to the best of his knowledge. If they had been able to figure it out without him knowing, Richard would almost be impressed enough to let them come and get him with open arms.
Almost.
As it stood, Richard still clung to his life dearly enough to ignore the stabbing in his side that predicted a bad stitch as he sprinted across the field. In a very short while it would grow painful enough that it would force him to slow down so he was determined to get every last bit of speed and distance out of his rapidly decaying stamina.
He was more than halfway to the nearest building when the stitch exploded where his love handles used to be. Richard stumbled as he cried out in pain and allowed himself to slow down. This decrease in speed allowed him to take a quick peek behind him.
It was hard to see anything clearly in such an awkward position, especially while on the run, but he didn’t think he saw anyth-
A nearly miniscule twitch in the brittle brown vegetation was all the confirmation he needed. While he knew he wouldn’t be able to match anywhere near his previous pace, Richard nonetheless pushed himself to gain a little more speed. He didn’t think getting to the building before his pursuers would be much trouble any longer, but why take the chance?
As his feet hit the street Richard quickly shot another look over his shoulder. It was in this position that prevented Richard from seeing the open manhole in the center of the street. It had been blocked from sight by an errant car that was at just the right angle to obstruct his view from the forest, much to his misfortune.
The first clue which led Richard to deduce something was amiss was when he felt his right foot plunging into thin air instead of the solid blacktop. Noticing this, he barely had time to turn his face back forward before his momentum smacked it hard to the ground. A sudden burning pain in his mouth informed him that his teeth had been damaged in some way; it wouldn’t be until a little later that he discovered that two had been chipped quite badly. At that particular moment though, the blow to his head had temporarily stunned him, causing the rest of his body to lose its tension. It was in this limp state that he slipped the rest of the way into the entrance to the sewer.
When the back of Richard’s head connected with the bottom of the sewer it pushed him from a simple stun to full-on unconsciousness.

Richard’s awakening was not a pleasant one. The first thing he noticed was the fact that someone appeared to have replaced his mouth and the back of his head with intense pain. Instinctively he attempted to hold it and curl up into the smallest ball possible, but the merest touch sent a fresh bolt of pain through his skull. As he jerked his hand away from the tender area he noticed blood on the tips of his fingers where he had briefly touched the epicenter of the pain. As he was taking inventory of these miseries he also noticed that his right leg hurt quite badly as well; not as much as his head, but still no slouch. He suspected it was fairly badly bruised.
At least he had finally been able to get some sleep. Richard was going to find that goddamn lining.
He experimentally twitched his neck, testing whether or not he’d be able to lift his head off the ground without being paralyzed by the daggers in his head. The initial movement was about as bad as he’d expected, but after a few seconds it subsided to a dull, if still quite intense, throbbing. At least there was that.
When he was reasonably certain that he was not in immediate danger from his injuries Richard started to take in his environment, what little there was. High arching walls on both sides in addition to the walkway he occupied and a depression which would have contained a man-made stream if anyone’s plumbing was still working. A sewer then.
Richard supposed there were worse places to end up with a splitting headache and a mouth that felt like it had been filled with broken glass, but he was hard pressed to think of any. In the pit of an active volcano, maybe. Hopefully things had dried up enough down there to have forced out the extra bacteria waiting to infect the first head wound they came across. He would have liked to have turned his head a little more to check on this but he suspected that doing so would not be worth what his head would put him through.
Gazing up at the hole in the ceiling, he wondered if he shouldn’t still be fearful for his life, but dismissed it. He suspected he had been unconscious for some time, so if anything had designs to end his existence they would have had ample time to do so. He imagined the wolves standing around the mouth of the sewer whining almost pitifully as they sniffed at their prey but were not stupid enough to try to follow him down.
Richard noted the disrepair of the ladder leading up. Several rungs had already fallen down and the rest didn’t exactly look stable. He feared that this would be the case for most, if not all of them. Wandering around an underground labyrinth did not exactly appeal to him, but it didn’t appear he had much of a choice in the matter. It wouldn’t really matter if the cut got infected and killed him of course, which was not an uncommon occurrence with such injuries, but he couldn’t really plan for that kind of eventuality so he figured he’d just put it aside at that moment. He decided that his first course of action needed to be testing the limits of his movement. After all, the greatest of escape plans wouldn’t be very much help if his body wasn’t able to carry it out.
Gingerly, he lifted his head further off the ground and no further shots of agony were shaken loose. So far so good. With more care than he’d given anything else in his life, Richard slowly bent at the waist and sat up. He felt slightly woozy from the loss of blood and his head was still pounding, but otherwise he was none the worse for wear. He stood still a few moments waiting for the wooziness to pass before taking a hesitant step forward. It was a slight risk, as tripping would almost inevitably lead to further damage to his already poor cranium, but the gamble paid off. He had moved himself half a foot to the left of the ladder without incident, and if he could do that easily enough it was likely he could keep going a ways before he had to stop. Richard didn’t feel comfortable risking the treacherous-looking ladder yet, and so hobbled a few feet on the pretext of checking his surroundings.
Nothing all that interesting jumped out at him within those few feet. He took note of the crustiness at the bottom of the depression which, while not ideal, was a great deal better than things could have been. It was odd trying to look at things without being able to turn his head; he had to turn his whole body in order to examine something. The few times he forgot this, he was quickly reminded with another harsh sting in his neck from where it was bent when he hit the ground.
When nothing of particular importance presented itself, Richard sighed and shambled back to his original position. He examined the rungs leading upward as closely as his injuries would allow. In the state he was in he wouldn’t have attempted the sturdiest ladder in the world, of course, but it wasn’t as if he had anything more pressing to do at that moment.
The lowest rung seemed more or less intact and sturdy, but the next few wiggled around a bit more than he would have liked . Above halfway there were sporadic gaps, the rungs that had originally been bolted having fallen to the floor due to disrepair. The rungs that remained higher up looked even looser than the ones towards the bottom, unfortunately. It didn’t look like he was going to be getting out of this particular hole.
On the bright side, at least it didn’t look like the sewer was ready to collapse just yet. Richard had seen a few that had done just that over the years; he didn’t want to imagine what it would be like if he got stuck under all that rubble.
Richard suddenly remembered the items he had scooped up during his flight from the wolves. He started looking around in the same stiff-necked fashion. This hindrance in movement combined with the fact that it was the middle of the night made it extremely frustrating to look for something, but eventually he managed to collect more or less the same amount of items he remembered he had been carrying. His few remaining possessions did not exactly inspire him with confidence
All that was left to him was half of his broken binoculars, a pistol with only the few bullets that were still inside it, and his flashlight. Only the last of these would be of any practical use at that point in time, but he supposed that the other two would be helpful if he ever managed to find his way out, so he pocketed them. He would have to be careful to use the flashlight sparingly as well, as he was unsure of how much battery life was left inside of it; Richard cursed himself silently for not remembering to change the batteries before setting out. There was no particular reason why the thought should have crossed his mind back then, but he regretted it just the same. He considered hurling the flashlight against the wall but then thought better of it.
It was all just so overwhelming. Richard had been living the good life as far as things went in the world they lived in, and then in the space of a few hours he was reduced to crawling around in a sewer with nothing to his name but the clothes on his back and some random junk.
He supposed it wasn’t going to do him any good to just stand around and feel sorry for himself. Waiting until later to get moving wasn’t going to be any help, wired as he still was from his sprint across the field.
Squinting into the darkness ahead of him didn’t do much good. With one last look up to the surface which was barely out of reach Richard sighed, pressed his hand to a wall, and started moving forward.

Richard looked up through the round exit hopefully. He had wandered around for what felt like hours, but without a watch or even the sky to tell time by it was nearly impossible to say for sure. All he knew was that he was tired and hungry, but still cautiously optimistic. After all, there was a very slowly brightening disc of light right above him and, as far as he could tell, the rungs leading up to it would likely be able to support his weight.
The walk leading up to that point hadn’t exactly been pleasant. It was quite some time before his neck allowed him to make even the smallest movements, and he still had a headache, although it had retreated from the original pounding to a dull throb. Nothing he hadn’t been able to deal with even before the current state of affairs in the world. He was more worried about the hunger.
He put one foot on the bottom rung of the ladder and began putting his weight on it. It held. Hallelujah.
The next few rungs fell to his feet in quick succession. Richard was unable to suppress the grin that forced its way onto his face. He had never been much for physical exertion, but the ache in his legs from wandering around for so long just reminded him of how lucky he was to be alive.
A gigantic BOOM shook the earth, dislodging Richard from his perch about 2/3 of the way up the ladder. A feeling of déjà vu washed over him as for the second time that day Richard found himself falling down a sewer shaft. This feeling of repetition ended abruptly as he struck the ground but retained his consciousness.
Agony exploded all over his body as injuries he had just gotten used to received even more punishment. Oddly enough, his right leg only hurt for a split second, whereas the rest of him was much more persistent. Such was the pain that he did not notice the darkening of the room until several seconds later. It was the bits of debris sprinkling his upturned face that brought him back to reality. He was bathed in utter darkness except for some thin shafts that managed to pierce through the rubble that blocked the way to the surface.
Wait. Debris blocked the shaft? Richard attempted to jerk himself into a sitting position, but his right leg refused to obey, causing the indented motion to become a sort of halfway flail to the left. This accomplished little more than sending another wave of pain through his battered body. He awkwardly fumbled with the flashlight stuck into the waistband of his pants until he managed to pull it free and turned it on. Upon inspection, he decided that the situation could definitely be better. In fact, he could not think of anything that could actually make it worse.
Whatever had caused the explosion had been powerful enough to knock loose some already-unstable pieces of sewer structure; enough to completely seal off the exit and one direction of the sewer system. Not only that, but his unresponsive leg was extremely bloody. From the angle he was laying in it was hard to tell, but he thought he might have been able to see some hard, jagged white poking out amongst the red. The rest of him wasn’t exactly in the greatest shape either. His head in particular was throbbing even worse than it had when he had first woken up at the bottom of the sewer; he hadn’t even suspected that to be possible.
He coughed on the dust and a choked sob escaped his throat. He had been so fucking close. A few more rungs and he would have been home free.
Richard wanted to break anything he could get his hands on. He wanted to howl with rage and slam his body against the walls. He wanted to get the fuck out of that hellhole. He couldn’t even raise his voice in frustration; every time he tried to expand his lungs to get enough air the pain in his ribs increased exponentially.
The flashlight happened across a gleam of silver about a foot away from his prone form. The gun. It must have come loose in the fall. Richard was amazed it hadn’t gone off when it hit the ground. Or maybe it had. His mind had been fairly well occupied at that point. He looked at it for a long time. The longer he looked, the more he was sure:
He had fought the good fight. It was high time he got to rest.

I am fully aware that this still needs work. I was hoping to get some criticism to help point out any flaws I might miss, and possibly suggestions on how to make certain points be less clunky. I usually don't have this much trouble straightening out how to write, so I'm kind of at a loss for what to do aside from step away from it and ask someone else to read it.
Also, stupid formatting made me have to mess up spanish spellings by taking out accents and tildes.


CHAPTER ONE

"Otro?" Carlos asked. "Acabo de perder mi trabajo, y ya estoy tom--"

"Stop speaking in Spanish. You know I can't understand when you do that," Geoff said, not looking up from his textbook where he scribbled notes.

"I can't find another job around here. I tried looking before, and this was the only one I found that would even give me enough to save up for next quarter." He leaned back in the chair, giving a half-hearted fling of his arms before letting them fall limply in his lap. He looked up at the ceiling, finding misshapen pictures in the random texture.

"You could always ask my mum if she's got a job opening for you. The convalescent home could always use a couple of extra hands," Geoff offered, making momentary eye-contact as he flipped the page. "You mind turning on the light? 'S gettin' kind of dark."

"No." Carlos said flatly.

"What? The switch is right there. All you have to do is--"

"I mean I'm not gonna whine to your mum for some rubbish job." Carlos got up and flipped the switch on. He didn't bother to sit back down.

"Why not? You know she'd always be willing to. You're like her second son." Geoff argued, raising an eyebrow. "She's done tons of stuff like this for you before. Remember the time that we were going to go to that science camp together when we were ten, and your parents backed out at the last minute, so mum paid for you?"

"Well, yes, but this is different. I don't wanna spend the rest of my life mooching off of your family."

"Oh," Geoff laughed, "Trust me when I say that if she hires you, there will be no mooching. She will work you for every cent she's paying." He turned back to his book and mumbled, "I think she'll be home any minute."

Carlos nodded and said that he was going out for some air. He stepped outside into the dark nighttime, the shadowy blue broken up by the dim orange of the streetlights. He took a deep breath of cool air--Well, cooler than the daytime, anyway. The trip to Barcelona he had gone on with Geoff's family a year ago had made him realize just how warm it was in Rockhampton. The air smelled a bit smoky as he leaned against the door, and the leaves on the trees lining the street shushing the occasional car driving home.

It had been a while since he'd come over to Geoff's house. Then again, it wasn't part of his solitary routine. He would wake up at seven, be at work by nine, get off work anywhere between seven and nine, come home and make some dinner, and then sit at the computer until two, three, sometimes even four in the morning. Then rinse and repeat.

But not today. No, today, he had no work, because the old man running the restaurant he worked at decided that it was time to lay off unnecessary help. Of course the Spaniard kid was the first to go.

He wasn't going to ask tonight. He wasn't going to stay for dinner, either. With Geoff busy with schoolwork, it was pointless for him to stay.

The two kilometer route home was a quiet one. This neighborhood was unusually empty at 6 pm, all of the inhabitants either still at work or already home and remaining in their houses. The sky was just as blank as the streets with the dark grey clouds acting as a blanket tacked to the ceiling over the light of the moon. The chain-link fences sang and shook as the breeze picked up into a wind, and the dull light from the streetlamps was mottled with sparkling droplets of shadow, increasing in intensity as the seconds dragged on.

Carlos's walk increased to a run for the last five hundred meters home, since getting soaking wet on a day that was already bad, simply for the sake of a leisurely walk didn't make much sense. His shoes and jeans soaked up more water with every step he took, the whole road looking like a three tiered lake or river.

The door slammed behind him when he entered the house as the wind sucked the door back into the frame. This was not going to be a pop flyin' evening when he had to tell his parents about his job, or rather, recent lack thereof.

"Carlos! Ven aqui, por favor!" his mother called from the kitchen with her still-heavy Venezuelan accent.

"Si, mama?" he leaned around the doorway.

"Puedes ayudarme con la cena?" She asked him for assistance. Carlos nodded and stepped the rest of the way into the kitchen, loosely stomping across the tile.

"Como fue?" she asked, her back to where he stood at the sink.

"Not so great...er...no bueno. En realidad, fue mal. Perdi mi trabajo hoy, mama." He told her about the job honestly.

She stopped and spun around, her dark plait swinging sharply through the air. "Que dijiste?" she hissed. "Por que? Que hiciste? Que hiciste tu?" Her voice was sharp as it inquired what he had done to deserve to lose his job.

"Nada, mama. El decido' que no me necesita mas. No hice nada mal." He assured her that he had done nothing wrong. The old man just decided that he wanted to get rid of him.

Carlos's mother sighed. "Carlos Vicente Ramiro Montoya...Que vas a hacer?" She asked what he was going to do.

"No se, mama. Yo no se." he picked up a potato and started peeling, not planning to say another word to anyone for the night.

Because of this, dinner was unusually quiet. Carlos's father was upset about something that had happened at the bank and how it had kept him away from home late. He hadn't shown up more than ten minutes before supper. He hadn't yet heard about Carlos's unemployment. However, Carlos's younger brother, Eli, had.

"So, what job are you gonna get?" Eli asked with an eyebrow raised as he decided that the table had become too quiet. He took another fork full of rice and crammed it into his mouth as he cocked his head to the side.

Carlos's eyes narrowed as his jaw went slack. He felt like dropkicking the seventeen-year-old brat.

"What do you mean? Your brother already has a job, Eli. Now shut up and eat your dinner." Despite being Spanish himself, their father rarely spoke Spanish to anyone except their mother.

"Oh, not anymore, he doesn't. Didn't he tell you, Padre? He got fir--"

"Laid off." Carlos quickly corrected. He then leaned to the side, toward his brother and hissed, "And if you don't lay off in about two seconds, you're going to find that fork down your throat along with the rice."

"Carlos. What is he talking about?"

Dinner immediately stopped being about the food as Carlos's father found one more thing to be upset and disappointed about. The conversation only went downhill from there.



[Caelum: 23:31]"Hola. Que pasa?"
The plain, black Arial text read on the screen. Elise never liked to mess with the font or color.

[Char: 23:31]"Nada. Pues, estoy disempleado ahora."
He typed back. There was a pause before the person on the other end of the computer answered.

[Caelum: 23:31]"Um...is 'disempleados' like saying fired?"
She asked. Carlos sometimes forgot that Elise was still learning Spanish, so she didn't know a full vocabulary.

[Char: 23:31] "Yeah. But it's no big deal. I can find anewjobsoonish" he typed back before having to pound on the space bar a couple of times to get it to work right again. "Sorry. keyboard is old."

[Caelum: 23:32] "No problema. I hear ya'." He could almost hear her laughing. "Oh, and no, it's not 'no big deal'. You need that cheddar for your school, don't you?"

[Char: 20:32] "Well, yes. But I can putthat off for a while."

[Caelum: 23:32]"Whatever you say, man. Hey, did you ever get that music file I sent you? The one from the '.hack\\SIGN' anime?"

[Char: 23:33]" Oh, yeah. Most of it isn'treally mything, but it's not bad. There were a couple of the fully acoustic ones that were really nice. Hey, do you want to see if there's a tinychat? I want to do mics sincemyspacebar is being a dick."

[Caelum: 23:33]"You compare everything to a dick, though. So that's not very descriptive."

Ah, yes, the joke on the forum that he and Elise frequented. He was frequently the one associated with jokes or comments of that nature. And Elise was always one of the first to remind him of it in private conversation.

The forum was actually how they had started talking to each other. He was one of the more well-known members, under the name Chardonnay, which most people just shortened to Char. He had been there for a while when Elise showed up as Caelum. The two had always exchanged brief words on the boards, but at one point they started talking in PMs, and then they became something like friends while living an ocean apart. He talked to her more than he spoke with anyone, aside from Geoff. She seemed to have a similar arrangement, although she had one or two more people that she confided in.

He checked the thread that the tinychat announcements were usually posted in. Nothing for today. daisies. Crappy spacebar time.

[Char: 23:35] "Scratch that, Caelum. No tinychat anywhere."
He always addressed her with her screen name, unless he found some specific reason that it was appropriate to do otherwise. She extended the same courtesy.

[Caelum: 20:35]"Do you want to start one?"

[Char: 23:35]"Uh, not really. Don'treally feel like setting one up."

[Caelum: 20:35]"What if I did? I'll work on that if you really want to do tinychat."

[Char: 23:36]"Uh, no, that'sokay. This is fine."

[Caelum: 20:36]"Alright. If you say so. So...Make anything interesting?"

[Char: 23:36]"No. How was your day?"

[Caelum: 20:37]"Eh, it was alright. You know. School is too easy, teachers are too ignorant in their own subjects. The usual."

[Char: 23:37]"How are things going with the padre?"

[Caelum: 23:39]"Great. He hasn't come home yet."

A small grunt of laughter escaped from Carlos's throat. He imagined the half-smirk and raised eyebrow that must have accompanied that comment. Her sense of humor was bordering on cynical at times, but she still maintained a generally friendly attitude online.

[Char: 23:40] "That bad, huh?"

[Caelum: 23:40]Well, he hasn't come back since I last talked to you two days ago. When I say he hasn't come home yet, I mean at all."

There was a notification of her typing more that flashed at the bottom of the screen, when it cut out. A disconnected message popped up to the top of the pile of tabs he had open.

"Oh come on," Carlos grumbled as he searched through the mess of cables to make sure that nothing had come unplugged. Nope. The net had just stopped working. "Maledicion!" he muttered as he hit his head on the underside of the desk when he tried to stand back upright.

"Carlos Vicente Ramiro Montoya!" his father called from the other end of the house.

Speaking of parental problems...

He wondered what he had done in the last few hours to deserve being called by all four names. His steps slapped a bit against the hard floors, and his fingers dragged against the wall. The small living room seemed even smaller as Carlos's father, a tall man at 187 cm, stood in the center of the room, his chest puffed out, his chin tucked down, and his glare hitting Carlos from above.

"Why the hell are you playing around on the internet when you should be looking for a job?" his low voice demanded.

"I was looking for a job online."

"Bullshit." he snapped. "The internet is gone until you have a new job to pay for your own daisies shit. Go to bed. I expect you up early tomorrow to start looking."

Carlos bit his tongue to keep from saying anything stupid that might get him in more trouble. Of all the things to get angry about...honestly. He wasn't some child who needed to be in bed by ten every night. He was twenty two for Christ's sake! Besides, it wasn't like it was really costing his parents anything for him to not have a job. He didn't have a car, so anywhere he went was either by foot or bus tokens from his own pocket. Essentially all of his cheddar was just going toward savings for more classes.

Reasoning with his father was probably useless by this point, though. He probably wasn't even angry with Carlos specifically. He was just angry in general. All that Carlos could do right now was just do what he was told. He turned down the hallway and walked back to his room, considering the possibility of writing a short something before going to sleep.

"Buenos suenos, Carlito," his mother called quietly from behind him.

He briefly raised his hand to acknowledge her before he shut the door.

Dicked around with it a little here and there. Pretty solid to begin with, really.

i am without words

Ah, I like your adjectives better. I hadn't even thought of using "meekly". It makes more sense considering his mood than "briefly" does. Thanks!

Made this on the Escapist a long time ago. It's not very good, but I kinda like it.

I flap my arm through the air. "Taxi!" I cry. "TAXI!" At least three cabs have passed by. "Taxi?" That's it. Nobody's going to pick me up. Just like yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that. What a stereotypical situation I'm in, not getting a ride.

Sometimes I wonder why I even bother, but then again, I can't get a car. All the salesmen don't trust me on the payments. Tell me I've got bad credit. I know for a fact my credit is fine and that they're just discriminating against me. So I have to go with public transit. My place is smack dab in the middle of a bus station and a good spot for cabs, fifteen minute's walk to each. I always go for the cabs, even though it's hopeless. So that's a fifteen minute walk to the taxis, plus five minute's rejection, and then another thirty walking to the bus stop. Depending on the schedules, it takes a while for the bus to make it, so that's practically an hour out of my morning.

Today, I arrive at work later than usual. Everyone turns to look at the oddball walking in. I can hear snickers and more than a few slurs. I try not to look anyone in the eye and make my way to my cubicle. After sitting down at my desk and typing out a memo or two, my supervisor appears.

"You're late," he says.

"Yup." I keep typing.

He taps his foot and bites his lip. "Why am I not surprised?"

I stop my work and look up at him. "You trying to say something?"

He ignores my question, and looks down at my clumsy typing. He inhales loudly through his teeth. He's nervous. Probably because he thinks I might attack him or something, the bigoted jerk. "So what are you here for?"

My supervisor swallows and says, "I don't know if you're E-Tech material."

I swivel in my chair to face him. "I see." There is an awkward silence, then, "So should I leave?"

He gulps some air. "Please."

On my way out, I see three of my co-workers huddled up together. One with curly hair nervously glances over his shoulder at me. He whispers something to his bald buddy and they shake hands. The bald guy steps forward as his two friends watch, grinning.

"Y-yo, dawg," he says with a chuckle. Curly covers his mouth and starts to laugh, so his friend nudges him. Baldy's mouth stretches wide so I can see the gaps between his teeth. Disgusting. "Wanna go shoot some b-ball?" Curly finally loses it and doubles over laughing.

I grunt and bump Baldy on my way out. I need to clear my head. I can't go back to my apartment; the landlord's always on my back about rent, even when I've paid. So I go to a bar.

When I walk in, everyone stops talking. The all stare at the door. Some people nervously put objects on the stools or seats next to them. I eventually find a seat and wait for the barkeep to take my order. He doesn't. "I'll have a Rolling Rock," I say, but I get no response. I sadly look down, and then across the bar. There's a pretty girl sitting all alone not too far from me.

I approach her. "Hi. How are you doing?" She jumps and yelps. I'm offended, so I give her a cross look. "What was that about?"

"Sorry," she says, calming herself down. "It's just that I hear you people commit so many rapes, and, well - "

"Rape?!" I exclaim. "And what do you mean, 'You People?'"

Her hand shoots to her mouth as she realizes what she's done. "I'm so sorry, I didn't - "

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU MEAN, 'YOU PEOPLE?'"

Her face flushes. "Well...y'know..."

"No," I say, calming down slightly. "No, I don't."

She starts to sniffle and brushes her eye. "Octopuses," she whispers.

I narrow my eyes. "That's octopi, you bitch." I say. "Octopuses is our word."

So I have an idea for writing a short story which I want to illustrate in a graphic novel format - as a way of getting myself into illustrating full-blown comics.

The story itself is still pretty lose, but I was just wondering if anybody has any links to websites that offer guides to writing short stories, or if anyone themselves can offer any tips to writing short stories - y'know... like things to avoid doing, ways to plan the story from introduction to conclusion (if short stories even have introductions and conclusions).

Most of the websites I know for writing guides are to do with full-blown novels, so probably aren't the best things to use as reference for writing short stories.

All I remember from my written English education is that short stories should have a 'twist' in the tail, which is kinda vague and - in terms of writing the whole thing - doesn't really help me out massively.

You don't have to have a twist. That's pretty messed up. Honestly, best advice anybody can give you is to just write it. If it sucks, and it will, then write it again. Then when it sucks for the second time, write a third time.

Yeah, if I think about it, if you think about say, a Marvel or DC comic strip as a short story, there doesn't really have to be a 'twist in the tail'. I guess it just has to be that something 'significant' happens - to make the main character(s) react/reflect in some way.

I should just write it/draft it (as a graphic/illustrated short story).

To think that the only bird that would deign let his voice be heard this morning is that blasted crow...

I haven't seen another kind of bird in ages. Whether I am looking at a fresh corpse, a rotten undead or a dry and huddled tree, there is no nightingale to whistle a nice melody, no robin to bring some colour to this wasteland, not even a magpie to jealous the precious resources I'm carrying. Only a plumage black as night and an ebony beak.

Damned crow... I feel like he's following every move I make in the outer world...
More unbearable than his ungracious groan is his black, mocking eye. Even when I'm at the camp, I can't help but notice him standing on the battlements, eyeing my fellow citizens with his dark, deep gaze. A gaze so deep I sometimes wonder if the eyes looking at us really are those of a feathered creature. The dumb looks the hens give me are somewhat reassuring: they don't give the impression that they now everything that is going on in this "town".

No matter what, I can't get rid of that crow. I tried many times to throw a stone or two at it, but it just dodges my projectiles with a flap of its wings. Even if I move in the shadows, even if I hide in the outer world, it's his guttural singing that salutes my every morning. How does it do that?

...If only we had a firearm... Surely it would take care of the crow, once and for all. If only I could get my hand on some gun in this damned outer world... Just a bullet, and this critter wouldn't cause any more trouble. If I could just get one shot at it, just so I don't have to listen to that raucous cry every morning, just so I don't have to endure being in his sight any more. Just so I can forget about that animal that seems to be telling me every time the sun rises up:

"I am watching you."




Man, I still need to work on my English.

"I'm getting married..." she said.
A small frown crawled into life upon her face. She looked at the cup of coffee in her hand, unable to tear her eyes away from the billowing steam escaping from the small hole in the lid. He gazed at her in earnest, waiting for the next word, the next clue to arise. He wanted answers. He wanted a reason. He wanted a name.
"It's really...none of your business Kyle. Not anymore." She turned her head. Anything to prevent herself from meeting his stare.
"I think I'm entitled to know, May. I think that I, of all people, should be...fucking entitled to know." Kyle was losing his cool. He was drumming his fingers on the table incessently. He always did that when he was frustrated. The fall of each finger rang like a solemn church bell in May's ears.
"Look Kyle...I knew this would be a bad idea, ok? I thought I could handle doing this in person but...I just...I just have to go. I have to go Kyle." May got up from her chair. She fumbled with her purse, trying to get her wallet out to pay for her coffee. She stood there, fishing through the bag for the cheddar until Kyle placed his hand gently upon her wrist.
"...I'll just...I've got it. Go home, May."
May looked at Kyle. Kyle looked back to the table, staring at the dried ring left from her coffee cup. Her sad eyes trailed to the window. The rain was picking up, and people scurried around beyond the glass with their hands deep in their pockets and coat collars turned up about their necks. May sighed and grabbed her umbrella. She walked to the front door and stopped, looking back at Kyle. There she stood, staring for seconds, which turned into minutes, into hours, and stretched into decades between the two. All seemed quiet, save for the din of the raindrops colliding with the windows. May closed her eyes and turned her head twords the heavy glass doors.
"He's a wonderful person, Kyle. He treats me well...he'd never hurt me. You don't have to...you don't have to save me anymore." And with that, she left. She opened up her umbrella outside Cafe Delight and made her way to her car. Her brisk pace reflected her urgency. The rain fell like hammer upon the anvil, and Kyle watched May hurry to her car. Again she fumbled through her purse, searching frantically for her keys within its confines. Finaly, May found the keys, opened her car, and started it up. Still, Kyle watched her as she pulled away from the curb and sped out of sight. She was on her way. Into the rain, she went. Back to her home. Back to her lover. Her groom to be.
--

Fun little exercise I did a couple days ago. I listened to a song and, for the duration of the song, I wrote about a scenario that came to mind, and wrapped it up when the song ended.
Song was "Dearly Beloved" from the Kingdom Hearts OST with Rainymood in the background.