The swirling, fetid water rising up Peter’s waist was less disturbing than the absolute refusal of anyone else on the thirty-first floor to acknowledge it. Co-workers splashed past his cubical as three glittering dragonflies alit his monitor. Materialising behind Peter, his team-leader croaked out a cough.
Panicked, a dragonfly dived into his coffee.
“I’m still waiting for that report Peter,” the team-leader said, tongue darting out to lick his glasses clean. “You knew this promotion would involve hard work. Some difficult changes.”
The insect bobbed in the coffee once before drowning.
“Sink or swim Peter. Sink or swim.” Continue reading
This video (2:38 minutes) is so well put together… Storytelling at its simplest and most effective.
For those who don’t know of Kris’s work, check out http://studios.chainsawsuit.com/…and of course, his Patreon.
Or follow him on Twitter: https://twitter.com/krisstraub
The seat shudders beneath me, poor maintenance on rural roads wreaking havoc on the old Greyhound’s suspension. The cow next to me digs at my ribs with her elbow. Again.
A sign welcomes us to another town; I tilt my cap over my face, sink into the seat. Habit, but pointless – their kind won’t pursue me in the daylight.
I look at my suitcase overhead, full of evidence, of guilt. I pray what’s inside stays asleep. Stays fed.
I’m rewarded with another elbow.
If it does gets hungry, I smile to myself, I might fix two problems.
Where am I?
Is this a…a blog?
It’s okay I’m not missing guys. I realise I haven’t been updating (or reading, or commenting, or anything) much for a while – truth is I’ve been awfully…flat. Not exactly sick, but not exactly well. It’s difficult to describe…I guess I’m generally whiny. In any case, going to bed before 8.30 pm does not help get things written!
However, I have not been totally inactive. In fact, for those few free hours I can stay awake I have been really productive – all in the name of NaNoWriMo2015! I’ve planned and plotted 15 short stories, at least a little bit, and I’m hoping to get a good run on at least half of these. I’m actually really looking forward to this – although I’ve struggled to even get to 1000 words on a day, so I might be kidding myself with 1,667, every day for 30 days.
But what the hell.
Let me know if you sign up for NaNoWriMo2015 and I promise I’ll blog more in December!
Yuri was drenched. Wet from ‘eyebrows-to-arsecrack’ his old man would have said. The van’s cab was dry, but he stayed enduring the storm.
Nothing would get him in that van again.
Rain flooded the car-park but missed the vehicle. Droplets refused its paintwork, swerving, dodging, evaporating, leaving it dry. Thirsty.
Shark-Eyes swam out of the darkness, grey shirt, grey suit. Unfeasibly large bag held out. Released. Yuri let the cash drop, splashing. Shark-Eyes cruised past unblinking. Driving off.
Drug-smuggler, child-stealer, sex-slave-trafficker. There was little Yuri would not do, had not done, for money. This though…
He walked, leaving the bag.
“Our hero, cognisant of the dangers, begins…”
“I’m narrating. This task shall be my last.”
“You’re being dramatic.”
“I’m certain. I shall die today.”
“You’re changing a light-bulb.”
“You know I hate heights.”
“I know you’re a big baby.”
“You’re supposed to do this. That was the agreement: you do heights and I do spiders.”
“I’m sure it was in the vows…”
“I’m eight-months pregnant. You wouldn’t send a woman in my condition up a six-foot ladder would you?”
“What if I brought in a spider?”
“What if I shook this ladder?”
“Our hero ascends…”