Something I love about writing is that it requires next to zero resources. Sure a laptop is nice and a word processor helps, but all you really need are words and an imagination, and you can make anything happen. Need a person to undergo a life changing event? Kill someone they care about, and watch them fall into a spiraling depression. Need a fantastic fortress protected by warriors on horseback? Say the word and the walls will rise from the ground, the warriors will be trained, and all you need do is describe their war shouts as the enemy approaches. Here’s a fun example.

The drool running from Chris Loona’s mouth pooled on the desk he had used for a pillow. The saliva was ruining the materials Chris had been studying in his pursuit of becoming a world renowned fashion designer. Since he was a young boy it had always been his dream to weave beautiful gowns from the finest silks and other fancy materials that he had failed to research in becoming a character in this story. Working at the local supermarket paid the bills, but it was the glory of the runway that was his true passion.

He would have slept well into the night, but a sound awoke him. Wiping the drool from his mouth, Chris looked at the grandfather clock next to his bed. It was shortly after 2 a.m. according to the clock, which he had won the week before at a poker match. Once a week Chris played poker in the back office at the supermarket. Old dirty Mitch that worked in the meat department lost the grandfather clock to Chris on a pathetic two pair.

The sound came again, this time clearly from the outside. Adrenaline filled Chris’ veins as his body desperately tried to alert him to the potential danger outside. Immediately Chris reached for the shotgun he kept atop the TV. His hands gripped the weapon not a moment too soon. The bedroom window broke into a thousand tiny pieces as an evil being burst through.

Chris recognized his arch nemesis immediately. It was Paddy the Putrid from the dark realm. Covered in sores and stank, Paddy the Putrid was the most vile killer that Chris Loona had ever fought in his make believe world. In the parking lot of Hi-Ho Market, many a time did Chris find himself face to face with a crowd of violent assassins who had crossed over from the dark realm. Chris didn’t know the exact location of the dark realm, but he had a suspicion it was somewhere near Bell Gardens.

With the reflexes of a cat, or an extremely fast badger, Chris remembered Paddy the Putrids biggest weakness. Grasping the shotgun with all his might Chris shoved the muzzle into the large sore on the side of Paddy’s neck. The impact burst the sore and sent puss all over the room. The puss flew into Chris’ eyes and blinded him. The poison rendered him helpless. Before Chris could see what happened, a blow to the jaw sent Chris to the floor and the gun sliding out of reach.

Chris knew this was the end of the line. Paddy the Putrid would end his life, and he would never achieve his dream of starting his own line of clothing for impoverished children in Africa. As Chris cringed and waited for the final blow, the bedroom door flew open with a loud crash. Standing in the entrance was Chris’ mistress, Amy Merryson. In one quick motion she reached for the shotgun on the floor, and as she did Paddy the Putrid lept.

Lifting the gun from the floor, Amy fired a single shot into the face of Paddy, reducing him to a warm lump of sores, and saving Chris Loona and his dreams. She fell to the floor and cradled Chris in her arms. With the tenderness only a woman possesses, Amy licked the puss from Chris’ eyes and restored his sight.

In the coming months Chris and his mistress would display a new line of leather pants and jackets. Failing to pique the interest of the fashion world, Chris would fall into a very deep depression, eventually losing Amy to old man Mitch at the supermarket in a poker game.

The End

I hope you enjoyed that, because I had fun writing it. All the characters in this story are completely fabricated, and if you happened to associate them with any real persons, I can’t be held responsible for your interpretations of the events therefor told in herefor aformentioned story.