While I can’t say that I’m technically qualified to write speculative fiction, what sort of fiction writer really is? We start with a little bit of what we know and then weave our fantastic tales from that point. I write about the stuff that scares me, that shows up in my dreams, and that even tickles my funny bone. I just hope there’s an audience for what I’m putting out there.
The Party is one of the stories that will be included in Even If It Hurts, a short story collection I recently completed work on and am currently looking to find a home for.
Here’s a little taste…
“You know, Zack Snyder really is an awful director.”
We both laughed. Considering he had directed Fire in the Whole—the movie we saw on our last date—the transition into debating the merits of Zack Snyder as a filmmaker didn’t seem too forced or odd.
As we discussed whether or not we thought the mall group from Dawn of the Dead should’ve realized that Mekhi Pfeiffer was clearly hiding his pregnant zombie wife away, there was a noise. I remember thinking it sounded like a loud crack of thunder like the ones you usually hear in the summertime. You know the kind I’m talking about? It was a deep booming noise that came from somewhere in the distance, and then a loud crack popped directly overhead.
Then the power went out.
Someone screamed. I think it may have been the woman at the table next to us or it may have been me. Regardless, we all knew something was wrong.
Within seconds, the darkened restaurant lit up from what was probably 30 or so cell phones. There weren’t too many of us eating lunch at 1:30 on a Tuesday, but everyone seemed to have their phones at the ready.
I could see Cakey-Lips Guy searching around in his pockets. I assumed he was looking for his phone, something I didn’t bother doing because I left mine at home like an idiot. I remember he picked me up at my house, there was something about “you don’t call me anymore” playing on the radio, and then I realized I left my phone at home. Totally figured it would be alright since there was a 99% chance I wouldn’t need to call for an Uber. Not that I thought I was gonna get laid after shoveling a huge bowl of pasta into my gullet, but I hadn’t expected the date to go so poorly that Cakey-Lips Guy left me stranded at the mall.
Someone to the right of us was crying.
“No! Mom! I’m alright. The power just went out. Tell Dad he doesn’t have to come get me,” said the teenaged boy sitting kitty-corner from our table. His date looked on with concern.
“Whaddaya mean it’s snowing?” shouted one of the servers into their phone. I was pretty sure they weren’t supposed to have those on them while they worked, but I guess it was okay what with the world coming to an end outside and all.
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