Day 105: Not-as-new territory

Day 105:

Spent the day chasing a seam of granite through the depths of my caverns. I thought I’d gone as deep as I’d ever gone before… then I broke through a wall into a cavern where apparently I had already left a torch.

Either that or the zombies have suddenly decided to start playing with fire because hey, did I mention cavern full of zombies?

I’m getting better at killing them efficiently, but still makes the heart race a bit.

Also, they wrecked my shoes and most of my pants so I have to make more.

Stupid zombies.

PS there was also a ducken in the cavern.

Line sketch of a ducken and a torch at the opening of a cavern, with the author's feet and legs in view. Pants are ripped off at the knee and the shoes lack both toes and heels.
Gotta make me some new pants.

Day 104: Fishing and rest

Day 104:

Did some sand “mining” for a bit this morning, then went fishing the rest of the day. Pulled up a glass bottle full of liquid. I know you’re thinking “of course it’s full of liquid, you found it while fishing,” but the thing is that there was a stopper in the top of the bottle (cork maybe? Could there be cork here somewhere?) and the liquid in the bottle was a bright cerulean blue, unlike the darker blues of the river and lake nearby. (And ocean, I tend to forget to mention the ocean.)

I have set it on a shelf and I am hoping it doesn’t explode. I have no intention of opening it.

Well, not right now anyway.

An arm (bent unnaturally) holding a small bright blue bottle of liquid. In the background, the grass, the sea, and the sky.
something seriously wrong with my ability to drawn hands.

What I wrote in 2017

It’s yes, I should write an eligibility post season again.

Short stories published in 2017

“Rudy’s Revenge”, published by Alliteration, Ink in No Shit, There I Was. This anthology is a collection of stories all beginning with the phrase, “No shit, there I was…”

No shit, there I was, trying to get one of the new clowns—guy who called himself Rudy—to back down from an ace-high straight. “Dude, don’t bet a witch doctor your immortal soul,” I warned. Most of the new guys would have listened. Most of the guys in the room were shaking their heads in disbelief.

Rudy scoffed. “What kind of witch doctor goes by Donald?” he said, waving his hand in the middle-aged man’s direction. “This guy’s a joke.”

“The Smell of Home”,  published by Dreaming Robot Press in 2018 Young Explorer’s Adventure Guide. This anthology is the fourth in its series. Each year the publishers collect science fiction stories appropriate to middle-grade readers regarding exploring. They emphasize diversity in characters and situations.

I knelt on the porch, the bare pads of my toes cooling on the cement. The late summer sun hadn’t made it around to this side of the house yet, and the roof kept the porch a good ten degrees cooler than the grass, except where the shadow of the cable bisected the field.

Caroline said our house needed guarding because of the cable. It was slate grey, wider than an oak, and it soared through our roof into the sky and out of sight. Caroline said thousands of lives depended on it.

Other stuff

If you’re more of the User Experience or Design wonk, you may be interested in:

Day 103: More and more duckens

Day 103:

I have so many birds that I can’t open a door without birds moving in or out.

We will not discuss the droppings.

A red background representing red granite, covered with off-white splotches representing ducken poo.
They’re. On. Everything.