The Chase

The crunch of the snow was too loud. Yes, they could see my footprints, but they’d have to find what direction I went first. That would be easy to do when I’m clomping though the barren forest like a deer drunk on rotten apples.

There had to be a way, I had to have a chance somehow. They could see me through the winter trees, they can hear me on the snow, hell they could probably smell me on the wind. The lake. I could try the ice on the lake, it’s thick enough this time of year. It would be slow, but I could try moving like I was on skates.


I remembered that the northern side of the slopes nearest the lake tended to be slippery, something to usually avoid but I could use to my advantage, dropping down to slide. Would they know to do this, or would they run at the slope too fast and be surprised by the treacherous drop? I could hope, maybe they navigate the woods by instinct rather than reason, they seemed more like animals, not rational enough to maintain a mental map of potential dangers in the woods.

That could be my advantage, my reason, my logic. I don’t jump to act with blind passion like they do, I’m not prone to fits of rage that cloud my ability to perceive. This could be my saving grace. I could run them through treacherous areas, navigating them safely, using my reason, my human advantage.


“There he is, the foul child murderer. He’s headed for the ice slopes.”
“Good, the weakest part of the lake’s surface is there. It is warmed by the current from the city’s drainage. He will break the ice with his fall. We will be on him in seconds.”
We ran, amazed at the foolishness of humans who considered themselves woodsmen, who hunt the innocent for sport and call us monsters.


P.S. – I am madly in love with my new book idea, so spending less time wondering about interesting blog posts and continuing the zombie flash thing is probably a trend that will continue for a while.

Zombies Just Wanna Be Loved

I am mortified at my lack of presence here lately. Every day I’ve been wanting to write, but couldn’t. Besides moving back to Tulsa (sigh), there were the holidays, and a few dashes of the kind of drama I don’t really want to go on about here.

And the unpacking, oh man the chaos. We left the trailer looking like a tornado went through it. I had to deep clean everything and start reorganizing before I could unpack. The two year old “helped”, so naturally it went painfully slow. I only found where she put my hair brush yesterday.

It wasn’t just that I couldn’t write, I couldn’t even find my coat and shoes for two weeks after we got back. I had to run around in my bathrobe and slippers that I was wearing for the drive down here. I’m still not done cleaning and unpacking. At a couple of points I was down with the flu. Also, with fibromyalgia, winter is always a struggle. And as I said in a brief update post, I didn’t even have a laptop cord for a while.

I’m throwing out a list of excuses, but there’s a point to it. I feel so guilty for missing so many posts, but the main reason is not how busy I was (that happens to everyone). It’s because I used up my emergency posts during the packing, move, and surrounding chores the first time we relocated in October. I figured my stash would build up again the way it was created, by occasionally writing an extra piece or two as relevant ideas occurred to me.

I mean, surely I wouldn’t need to dip into my extra writing folder too many times so quickly after depleting it, right? Sigh. I’m old enough to know better, and how tempted fates get mischievous. I want to be a professional writer and here I am skipping posts frequently.

So, I learned. I shall apply this lesson immediately. My next few posts will be brief, just a simple bit of flash, so I can focus on building up my stash again (during cleaning breaks). I’m going to pull a single tarot card out of my deck each week and use it as a prompt, posting the resulting story without any of my usual blathering on about aspects of my life that impact my writing, until I have a safety net back in place and my house is less chaotic. I mean, I’d say clean, but I love writing too much for that to happen.

P.S. – Post title is a song reference.



I can hear their cries for the boy over the incessant banging. I know the ancient chest of doors barricading the door is heavy and sound, but I’m worried about the bookshelves covering the windows. Can they be tipped over the couch that locks them in place?

I smile at my new little friend, cold and muddy from his run through the forest. “No reason to worry,” I lie, “We only need to hold out just a little longer and help should arrive.”

“That’s what my dad said.” My heart sinks with grief at the insane cruelty of the human race. Whatever madness caused this mob, at least it will be easy to get justice for his family. “Well, help is even closer now. I tell you what, we don’t have to listen to them. Let’s turn up the radio really loud and go eat cake in the kitchen while we wait for the police.”

He held my hand and followed quietly, but I could tell that trying to turn his crisis into a party was a mistake. I didn’t know what to do other than to try and be chipper though, it’s what I’ve always done.

I pulled out the leftover cake I was fortunate to have on hand, and placed the chef’s knife next to it. “Would you mind setting the table?” I asked as I rummaged in the dishwasher for a pair of forks.

“M’am?” He asked shyly. I looked over my shoulder and froze as I saw the blade in his hand. “I’m not hungry for cake.” He smiled, and I realized I had been wrong to assume the blood on the corner of his mouth had been his own.


I am not trying to take an extended break. I fully intended to take maybe two weeks off, get settled back into the trailer (because the beach house isn’t happening so I’m sitting here half a country across from my lover again). The details aren’t important, but it appears I might be without a charger for my laptop for up to another 2 weeks. Hopefully not that long. I want to write so bad my teeth itch.