EBOOK
A Survivor's Guide to the Dinosaur Apocalypse
Episode One: "Urban Decay"
Wayne Kyle SpitzerSeries: Survivor's Guide to the Dinosaur Apocalypse1
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Scenes & Interludes...From an Improbable End A New Series in the Flashback Universe
"I'm not a killer, if that's what you mean," he retorted, then turned away and watched the fire, hands on his hips. "Nor will I let any of us be. I mean, if I've said it once I'll say it again: this isn't about bloodshed. It's not even about rebellion. It's more about ..." He paused-as though saying anything else could only lead to regret.
"I thought it was about nothing," said Fiona, softly. "That that was its beauty-it was wildness for the sake of wildness. Passion for the sake of passion. Isn't that what you said?" She laughed with surprising bitterness. "Different context, I guess."
"It was about filling the nothing," he said, still facing away. "And letting go. Until...But then-you haven't had to think about any of that...have you? No one's made you king."
"And cue the Messiah Complex," fumed Fiona, which I took as my cue to leave; to give them space-to let them hash it out, whatever it was-after which I wandered over to one of the kegs and filled a cup, reckoning that next to a roaring fire wasn't the best place to keep beer-because it tasted like piss, literally. Nor did I stop at one but downed three in rapid succession, wondering what Calvin had meant by 'filling the nothing' and 'letting go,' and about being king-not to mention starting a sentence with 'until'...but never finishing it.
And I guess I must have stood there for a while, because I distinctly recall watching the same group of teens-their arms laden with destruction-moving back and forth between the fire and the White House-the fucking White House!-to the point that I began feeling shitty about what we'd done; and even a little sick to my stomach. But then Fiona returned jingling Calvin's keys and we were firing up his Mustang convertible, and the next thing I remember she was piloting us down 14th Street NW past buildings with Doric columns (now choked in prehistoric ivy) and a pair of grazing stegosaurs and at least one giant millipede; all the way to Constitution Avenue and the National Museum; which I took special note of only because I was trying not to look at her body-something she noticed, I'm sure, but didn't seem to mind-because she just glanced at me beneath the blood red sky and smiled-toothily. Carnivorously.
"I'm not a killer, if that's what you mean," he retorted, then turned away and watched the fire, hands on his hips. "Nor will I let any of us be. I mean, if I've said it once I'll say it again: this isn't about bloodshed. It's not even about rebellion. It's more about ..." He paused-as though saying anything else could only lead to regret.
"I thought it was about nothing," said Fiona, softly. "That that was its beauty-it was wildness for the sake of wildness. Passion for the sake of passion. Isn't that what you said?" She laughed with surprising bitterness. "Different context, I guess."
"It was about filling the nothing," he said, still facing away. "And letting go. Until...But then-you haven't had to think about any of that...have you? No one's made you king."
"And cue the Messiah Complex," fumed Fiona, which I took as my cue to leave; to give them space-to let them hash it out, whatever it was-after which I wandered over to one of the kegs and filled a cup, reckoning that next to a roaring fire wasn't the best place to keep beer-because it tasted like piss, literally. Nor did I stop at one but downed three in rapid succession, wondering what Calvin had meant by 'filling the nothing' and 'letting go,' and about being king-not to mention starting a sentence with 'until'...but never finishing it.
And I guess I must have stood there for a while, because I distinctly recall watching the same group of teens-their arms laden with destruction-moving back and forth between the fire and the White House-the fucking White House!-to the point that I began feeling shitty about what we'd done; and even a little sick to my stomach. But then Fiona returned jingling Calvin's keys and we were firing up his Mustang convertible, and the next thing I remember she was piloting us down 14th Street NW past buildings with Doric columns (now choked in prehistoric ivy) and a pair of grazing stegosaurs and at least one giant millipede; all the way to Constitution Avenue and the National Museum; which I took special note of only because I was trying not to look at her body-something she noticed, I'm sure, but didn't seem to mind-because she just glanced at me beneath the blood red sky and smiled-toothily. Carnivorously.