Late, as usual, and just a very short piece. Hey, why not go read that awesome announcement again?
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F3: Memories of Place
March 15th, 2008 § 2
F3: Carry These Songs Like a Comfort Wherever You Go
March 8th, 2008 § 2
I was hungover on Friday thanks to some birthday celebrations on Thursday. This meant I was faced with writing something about destroying the world, or something irredeemably melancholic. As I’m currently obsessed with the Gaslight Anthem I went with the latter.
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F2: Half-Day of the Dead
November 9th, 2007 § 3
Do you see what I did there? Friday Fiction: F2. No flash for you this week.
I was going to post this up last Friday to capture some of that ghoulish Halloween spirit, but this was prevented by computer problems. (In fact, you’re mainly seeing this now because I retrieved it from a sent items mailbox on an old webmail account.) I’ve decided I still want to post it, as you guys deserve a longer piece to make up for my laxity with F3.
This is a 2,500 word story that I wrote about a year and a half ago. Looking over it now some of the writing is very clumsy, although I still like the nested structure. I’ve resisted the urge to change it, because historical revisionism is for politicians and the mass media. So I hope you enjoy this, despite my weak prose. It’s about zombies, and as we all know everything is better with zombies.
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Half-Day of the Dead
The ghoulish face scowled before him, an effigy of decay and corruption. The flesh was torn from one cheek as though by a serrated edge, and black blood had dried in streams running down from the wound. Ruptured capillaries had flooded one eye and its pupil gazed off at an unexpected angle. The hair was matted with more dried blood and filth. The skin itself was a lifeless grey, speckled with pus and scratches and tiny sores that wept fluid.
‘Incredible,’ he said. ‘It’s so… lifelike.’
The zombie visage bobbed before him, and the mouth shifted into a hideous grin.
‘Isn’t it though?’ the zombie replied. » Read the rest of this entry «