I hope you enjoyed Italy. I hear the coast is beautiful this time of year, and after that trouble with the gas main below your building and all the strange sounds coming from your upstairs neighbor, you certainly deserved a vacation!
As we agreed, I stopped by your apartment every other day
Tag - unreliable narrator
Derek sprints out the door with a handful of cash. Sweat beads trickle down his forehead. Black glasses fog above the facemask that hugs his chin and shields his mouth. The mask slips down his nose, dangling just over his lips as he hustles to his rusty pickup truck. Police sirens wail inRead it now
As soon as I saw the tweet, I knew he’d be coming after Bridgett. And I’d be damned if I was going to let that happen.
“Can’t wait to meet my favorite author, @BridgettKuzminsky, tonight at Chi-Town FanCon! #DragonAngels5 is the best one yet. I’ve read it three times. I have a special something
She’s not coming, says the Wolf. It prowls outside my cottage door, snuffling.
I cower into my blankets. How big is it today? Large enough to blow down the door and swallow me whole in an instant?
I can’t let it in.
It’s Friday, the Wolf continues. She never comes on Fridays.
It was a dark, moonless night, and there was nowhere else to go. No bar in town stayed open this late. And for the life of him, he couldn’t remember where he had parked his car. He eyed a broad icy park bench by the sidewalk. It looked infinitely more attractive than hisRead it now
The zombies had the stronghold surrounded. But what else was new?
Kicking my feet up on my desk, I clicked on my handheld recorder. “This is Commander Corinthia II—that’s ‘Cori’ to my friends, ‘Commander’ to the rest of you—with an update on our situation. It’s day…” I glanced at the walls of my concrete room. The hordes of tally marks looked like the desperate clawing of the undead. “…day unknown of The Z Siege. The Oasis is holding up fairly well.” What could zombies do to a concrete fortress in the middle of a desert? Arm themselves with cactus battering rams and charge?
I hopped onto the bus with music still bouncing through the wires in the back of my head. The hydraulic hiss of the door cut off the cries of the doctors running to catch me. I waved at them as the bus pulled out and joined the flood of neon San Diego traffic under the rose gold sky.
The visual should have been concerning, but, hopped up as I was, the pearl white road and amber horizon seemed more or less normal. People ogled me with dark faces rimmed in blues and reds.
An unkempt and rather grisly-looking man slumped in a chair with the computer screen reflecting off his glasses. His elongated fingers began to type furiously at the keys as the clock mocked him with how little time was left.
I’m sorry. It’s cold here, the food is bland, even the wind feels listless.
I’m deeply saddened that you’ve blocked me on every messaging app, so I’m writing you an old-fashioned letter. Speaking of which, I think old-fashioned is a good thing. It carries traditional values and all that stuff. Don’t be upset because I called you old-fashioned. Let’s go on a second date.