The apocalypse began on a Tuesday.
In the heat and humidity of September in Mumbai, a small, white organism grew inside the walls of The Sahil Hotel on Behram Road. The walls were made to resist mold and most fungal growth, yet this persisted. It concentrated most heavily inside Room Two-Twenty-One which had gone unused and uncleaned for a week before being given to Joseph Patel, a business man out of New York in the United States. When he’d gotten the room, he complained that it smelled musty.
That morning, three cleaning women went in while he was out at a meeting and aired it out. They did not notice the spores that floated in the sunlight, mistaking them for dust. Laboring for nearly an hour, they managed to mask the smell that had offended Joseph Patel. When he returned that afternoon, the whole room smelled of lavender and pine and he slept soundly all night.
On the third morning of his stay, Joseph woke in the middle of the night with a headache and he felt like his sinuses was packed with cotton. He took an aspirin and went back to bed. He woke again before dawn and felt a cold coming on. Cursing his luck, he listed every person he met with this week and decided to lay the blame on Andil Vuschel, the salesman from Eramal. Andil had been sneezing through his entire presentation and didn’t cover his mouth once.
Joseph packed his bags and made an early start for the airport. Continue reading
Three months ago a man got on a plane in India thinking he had a cold. What he carried inside of him was a disease that was highly infectious and resistant to most known forms of medication. Within weeks, the disease has spread across the globe and there is no cure.
The world calls it The Pale Horse.
For twenty year-old Meda Ahachik, her vacation should have been spent worrying about upcoming finals. Instead, the pandemic reaches the city of Baltimore, and Meda finds herself relying on the teachings of a family she’d left far behind.
“There are many here among us who feel that life is but a joke
But you and I, we’ve been through that, and this is not our fate
So let us not talk falsely now, the hour is getting late.”
– Bob Dylan, “All Along the Watchtower”
Her vision came in patches of light and darkness as consciousness ebbed in and out. Windshield wipers slashed at the snow. Trees rushed past. The faces, however, the faces were the worst. They appeared suddenly, eyes wide with madness instead of terror and were gone with a loud thump that shook the SUV’s entire frame. It shook Katie too, but she found no energy for fear, for anxiety, for remorse. She could only lay there, barely moving. Drawing a breath was hard enough.
Antiseptic. She smelled antiseptic. The odor was strong and stung her nose. It overpowered everything. She lifted a hand, her left hand, and saw it was wet with it. Her face too. The taste of it was on her lips.
“Awake?” Continue reading
So, I am in the midst of some major fiction writing.
The company I work for is very tight on what I can and can not do with intellectual property that may earn me money, so every piece of literature I write (for profit) has to be passed through a strict process of approval. For that reason, I’m turning this blog into something of an outlet for my other, less salable work. It will be the place where all my non-earning writing can go, which will be cool! I’ll write whatever comes to my mind and wants an outlet. It’ll be fun.
If I have some fan fiction to write, it’ll go here. If I have some horribly cliché story idea that I just want to write about anyway? No problem! This will be a blog where my fun, just-for-kicks stories can find a home. If and when any of my professional work comes out, I’ll be sure to link you all. Then you can be the gal or guy that says “Hey, I read that guy’s bullshit stories!” Should we ever meet at a signing or a Convention, we can laugh about them.
And now, an updated image of my upcoming story header.
I’m not sure it’s quite done yet. It might go through a few more iterations. I feel like it might need a subtitle. We’ll see as time goes on.