It's a zombie round up.
Stuff's good.
Doing my laundry while Nano-ing while keeping Sarah company in the computer lab while she scans things for her color theory project.
(that's a lot of 'while's!)
Anyway, things are going fairly smoothly, all things considered. (one of those things is that I am about 3500 words behind, but I was like 5000 words behind this morning so...)
Protip: If you’re having trouble with your wordcount, tear off a girl’s arm and then hit your main character over the head with a shovel. You’ll get plenty of words from that.
The first man rubs his gloved hands together, cracks the knuckles. He’s thinking.
“Well,” he says, “we gotta get you in the van somehow.”
Mark says, “Why do I have to go in the van?”
The two men look at each other briefly and begin laughing. It’s one of those moments where, in movies, everyone begins laughing together. Where the awkwardness momentarily overwhelms the hero and he laughs with the villains, and it’s one big communal laugh. Only, Mark doesn’t laugh. He no longer has that impulse of human togetherness that makes the hero laugh along with the villain. He just stands in the snow, observing, in his dirty thrift store clothes with his dead eyes.
“Zombie round-up, my friend,” says the one with the shovel-the first thing he’s said so far. He has an odd tone to his voice about the consonants. Mark puts his hands in the pockets of his sport coat for the first time since he bought it. There’s something odd in one pocket, but he doesn’t feel that now would be a great time to investigate.
“I’m not sure if I should take offense at that,” says Mark. The two men (though mostly the second one) falter just a little, as they tend to every time Mark says something coherent, like they can’t quite reconcile reality with their own idea of what they’re doing.
“Anyway,” the first man says, running two fingers around under the rim of his hat, scratching his head, “we need you to get in the van.”
“Why?” says Mark again.
“We already told you, it’s zom-“
“No, why are you trying to round up all the walking dead?”
The one with the shovel turns to his friend.
“Lookit him bein’ all P.C. and changin’ the words ‘round.”
The first man ignores him.
“It’s for science,” says the first man. “Would you please get in the van? We don’t have all day.”
“We might not have all week,” the second man adds. He is, again, ignored.
“I can’t go in the van,” Mark says, and raises his arm to once again point west. “I have to go that way.”
Doing my laundry while Nano-ing while keeping Sarah company in the computer lab while she scans things for her color theory project.
(that's a lot of 'while's!)
Anyway, things are going fairly smoothly, all things considered. (one of those things is that I am about 3500 words behind, but I was like 5000 words behind this morning so...)
Protip: If you’re having trouble with your wordcount, tear off a girl’s arm and then hit your main character over the head with a shovel. You’ll get plenty of words from that.
The first man rubs his gloved hands together, cracks the knuckles. He’s thinking.
“Well,” he says, “we gotta get you in the van somehow.”
Mark says, “Why do I have to go in the van?”
The two men look at each other briefly and begin laughing. It’s one of those moments where, in movies, everyone begins laughing together. Where the awkwardness momentarily overwhelms the hero and he laughs with the villains, and it’s one big communal laugh. Only, Mark doesn’t laugh. He no longer has that impulse of human togetherness that makes the hero laugh along with the villain. He just stands in the snow, observing, in his dirty thrift store clothes with his dead eyes.
“Zombie round-up, my friend,” says the one with the shovel-the first thing he’s said so far. He has an odd tone to his voice about the consonants. Mark puts his hands in the pockets of his sport coat for the first time since he bought it. There’s something odd in one pocket, but he doesn’t feel that now would be a great time to investigate.
“I’m not sure if I should take offense at that,” says Mark. The two men (though mostly the second one) falter just a little, as they tend to every time Mark says something coherent, like they can’t quite reconcile reality with their own idea of what they’re doing.
“Anyway,” the first man says, running two fingers around under the rim of his hat, scratching his head, “we need you to get in the van.”
“Why?” says Mark again.
“We already told you, it’s zom-“
“No, why are you trying to round up all the walking dead?”
The one with the shovel turns to his friend.
“Lookit him bein’ all P.C. and changin’ the words ‘round.”
The first man ignores him.
“It’s for science,” says the first man. “Would you please get in the van? We don’t have all day.”
“We might not have all week,” the second man adds. He is, again, ignored.
“I can’t go in the van,” Mark says, and raises his arm to once again point west. “I have to go that way.”