I know for a fact that I have yet to complete the sixth chapter of the obviously internationally popular saga Cities of Eternal Rain, so I thought perhaps I’ll slake my obvious horde of a reading audience’s thirst for prose penned by my hand with this short story.
The premise of the story was based on a writing contest that was about what exactly a character would do if he had but two minutes until the end of the world. Most wrote about some emotional drama between family members, or perhaps about the main character in question coming to terms with his inevitable demise. I didn’t write any of that madness. No sir, I chose a different path. Curiously, I didn’t win. It couldn’t possibly be that I wasn’t what you would call a stellar writer was it? Poppycock! It was obviously rigged by the Illuminati.
Continue reading “A short Story: Winston Thatcher and the Rod of Ragnarok”