This place is Hell’s waiting room.
The sound of him drinking was indescribable—like dirty runoff down a storm drain.
I was a spectator who had gotten free admission to a freak show.
It’s not about winning, it’s about doing what’s right. And yes, we will do what’s right.
Smiling, he handed Landry the bloody aluminum bat Warnick had used. ‘Time to die, old man,’ he said.
During our time together in this place Holly didn’t outright avoid me or treat me rudely. But she wasn’t—how do women like to put it? She wasn’t emotionally available to me.
Creating characters is easy. It’s getting them to behave that’s the problem.
We are born. We die. Somewhere in between we live. And how we live is up to us. That’s it.
His eyes were like two wafers of slate, grey and lifeless.
If you’d saved the girl, you’d be a hero. Next time.
Her voice was small and distant, like she’d already left the room.
Drive. He’s already dead.
So here I am writing my zombie story and my lead character decides to betray me.
I felt a lunatic’s laugh welling up inside me.
She played me with a bad hand, and I fell for it every time.
A riverless silence made the air heavy.