Words to Die By

I died.

It wasn’t a somber affair, and certainly nothing to get your panties in a wad over. One day I was here, living the good life and all, and then the next, I was still here, but not alive by any reasonable definition of the term.

Don’t get me wrong, being dead has its perks. I get to see a lot of movies. I just don’t get to pick which ones. You basically see whatever is playing at the closest theater. It’s just not safe to travel far, trust me. 

Yeah, it turns out even the dead have to worry about predators. Sorry, I figured that would be over too, but it’s not.

It’s a skill, you know? Avoiding predators is a skill, just like it was when I was alive. Wear the wrong top, get catcalled from the street. Try to get ahead in life, better watch for that bitch sharpening her blade for a spot in your back.

That was just how life was.

It sucks that death is the same.

The monsters are different, but they’re still here.

Predators are predators; living or dead doesn’t matter if the prey still runs.

And I run.

Pocket Pulp books are short stories (30-50 pages) published in a 4x6 inch paper back. They've got all the excitement of a longer Martin tale but are perfect for a single sitting. Get them while they last!