One of the most burdensome things about going anywhere, whether it’s down the street or into another universe, is trying to figure out what to wear. It can be frustrating to balance fashion with comfort, practicality with cost, weather with time, all while secretly wishing you could run out into the street in your underwear without being judged or, worse, arrested.
I will not be posting on this site for the month of November, due to the fact that I’ll be writing a new draft of a novel for National Novel Writing Month. If you’d like updates, you can follow me on Twitter where I’ll post about NaNo every day.
See you in December, and happy writing!
Smith continued scribbling in the notebook Mel had so generously provided even as the three Earthlings exited the forest. Mel walked behind Smith, still gripping his sword as it bobbed in the jury-rigged sheath at his side. Carla was the only one of the three who was actually looking where they were going, which worked out as her perch on top of her uncle’s head was the best vantage point to serve as lookout. Over the past few days, Carla had been working on her pronunciation to the point where it was clear even to Smith what she meant when she declared that they had arrived at a desert.
In the Cathedral of Saint Decius there are many religious texts, but none so interesting as this. The Verses of Papyrus are much rarer than any Qu’ran or Bible or other book of religion in this vast, complex world we live in, but the words within are cherished by the sort of elite priests who like to keep to themselves in the far reaches of distant monasteries. It cannot be said whether these texts are mere fairy tales or some permutation of the true history of humanity, but this didn’t matter, for the only copy the heroes of our story would have encountered had been dropped out of Carla’s pocket onto the forest floor outside and lost. If you were to find this book, the open pages would have given you the following lost legends:
Out of the dirt-covered trees came flying a hamburger.
On top of the Cathedral of Sainte Decius, a man with a long nose lay prone, gripping his weapon so tightly that his right hand ached. In the last two days, Smith had been threatened, shot at, tossed into a mysterious bureaucracy, shuffled along into a pile of socks, given a gun from the sky, forced to run for his life and finally, most distressingly, he had run out of cigarettes. Filled with an abundance of nerves, his hands shook and he had to grip the gun with two hands to keep it still.
Despite all of the adrenaline and fatigue, Smith raised the handgun, unsuited for sniping as it was, and focused on his target. In a voice he hoped the abomination would never hear, Smith whispered “Death”.
Carla thought she was opening her eyes, based on the fact that she could see again. Then again, it didn’t feel anything like opening her eyes usually felt. Her body felt cold and stiff, like what she imagined waking up from a coma must feel like.
In front of her, Carla saw a bloody stain on the ground. Continue reading