A gunshot sound effect, cartoonish and playful in its ringing, blares out from the electronic alarm

clock resting on the floor. Its screen, illuminated in small green analog text, showed “6:30AM,
12/25/76.” A dainty hand slams downward, stifling it with ritualistic speed.

The lights flickered on like they always did, and he got up like he always did. The kid, that's
what they called him. That's all he could remember.

Straight to grab his toothbrush, the kid made sure to brush twice a day, doctors orders. His
toothbrush was marine blue, deep as the sea. He had never seen it, the sea or the Ocean or
whatever it was now. 2-3 minutes per side for the shiniest sheen, and a spritz of Wd-40 to keep
it all in.

Off to work. Brought his toothbrush. The kid never talked much, but was friendly enough to his
friends. “Hey Jim, Hey Boro.” “Hey Kid- teeth are lookin real shiny.”

Boros was a larger man, tall and strong and totally bald. His Toothbrush was strapped to his
waist, purple and blue with a hint of gold. Jim was an odd looking fellow, with short legs and
long arms that dragged if he let them rest at his side. Of course he never did, always firmly
gluing them to the back of his head in an easygoing stance. His toothbrush was Jet black, and
longer than most, a scary looking thing really. Jim never forgot to brush, and it showed.

“How’d you sleep?” “Well as they let you, on the ground.” “Well hey, it's Christmas. God bless
you if he gives a damn!” The kid chuckled a bit as Boros shoved an unwrapped gift into his
hands. A holster of black denim, probably made out of throwaway clothes or donated by those
who lost their teeth. He smiled an ugly wide smile, the kind you’d expect someone who never
saw their mother smile. “Thanks Boros, you really didn’t have to.” Boros slapped him firmly in
the back, brimming with camaraderie in his bellowing chuckling. “Of course I didn’t have my boy,
that's why it's special, that's why anything special! The world might be killing itself, but I’ll be
damned if I don’t get my friends a present on the hallowed Christmas day!” Jim’s lumbering
arms left their crows' nest to proudly reveal a beautifully stitched Quiver on his back. “For me
Toothbrush.”

The trio stood around laughing, joking, jibing, and jazzing for what felt like forever. Tiny white
specks began to float down from the sky, softly floating. The Kid saw them first, stunned, and
thought they might be spirits, maybe his old friends. Freya, Stephen, Block, and Gregund. He
grabbed Jim and Boros by the shoulders and turned their heads to the sky.

“It hasn’t snowed in years.” Boros said whilst wiping a tear from his eye.

The moment was pristine.

The alarm ripped the moment to shreds like a cleaver killing a lamb.
The PA system crackled to life, and with difficulty, the captain screamed “ -EN, THEY ARE*-
GRAB YOUR TOOTHB*- MAKE SURE NOT TO MIS*- BRUSH THEIR TEE*-”

Despite the vigor and thunder of the captain's commands, the Trio moved with sudden
sluggishness. In a line, they all turned outwards over the wall they had been avoiding as they
talked. Three windows for each one, with a toothbrush slot of course. Each held their toothbrush
firmly.

The wasteland that looked out onto was motionless, but it wouldn't be that way for long. The
horizon was already pulsating, as if something was alive there, something was coming.

The kid breathed in, and then out.

Breathe, relax, aim, slack, squeeze.

The kid reached into his pocket, and pulled out his toothpaste.

One in the chamber.

Time to brush some teeth.

Writing Exercise 2

Outline -
- Boy and his sister
- She’s dying, needs medicine
- In a dune buggy
- 3 days of story
- Day 1 - food, a week out, water, hope
- Day 2 - Coughing is back. Sandstorm cost a day, Nearby tracks- raiders?
- Day 3 - They hit a rock, the dune buggy exploded. He was tired. He didn't see it. It
wasn’t his fault. Was on foot now, searching for the closest town. No sister. No way to go
back home, to face that.

A shooting star blazed across the desert, kicking up sand in its wake. Really it was a dune
buggy with a sick sister, Thea, and a worried sick brother, Poliz.
One hand gripped the wheel tightly at 12 o'clock, and the other wrapped around Thea, clasping
gently over her nose and mouth, a vain attempt to keep the sand out.
They had about a week left before they found the Sand Surgeon, the man acclaimed for turning
sandy lungs into fresh, fleshy ones.
The obsidian sand was beautiful in contrast to the magenta sky.
Poliz stared down the cascading, shifting obstacles that stood before him. He was tired and
determined. A thin sky graced itself from his chin to his left cheek, a break from his otherwise
soft face.
He was looking for water.
Thea was coughing again, the last time was three days before.
As he drove, eyes scanning feverishly at the peak of every dune for the sparkle, the unusual
shine that marked a watering hole, an oasis of this hellscape, he grew more tired.
He realized, as his mind began to withdraw into the vast empty space of his own
consciousness, that he wished to speak to someone.
He had become dreadfully lonely, so lonely that he was starting to feel brittle.
Thea couldn’t speak anymore, that's half the reason why he was bringing her to a doctor.
But then.
Hope.
Miles out, a shine bit the horizon, bleeding it like a diamond.
Water.
He pulled himself back, and started thinking, doing calculations.
About two days away, with hills and stops for the Zenith.
Despite it all, a smile cracked on his sandy lips, stinging and raw. It only made him smile wider.
With a sudden mission, the days became blurs. Thea slept, still having small fits that sounded
dryer by the hour. Poliz drove fast and reckless, almost fighting against the sand that had taken
so much from him, from his family. Two Zeniths, two stops. Five hours under the thermal
blanket in whole. Back to driving, closer to water. It should be enough for the final stretch. No
more searching and scanning in desperate hope. Just driving.
The water was close. At every dunes peak, the lightning flash of sun on water striked at him,
invitingly. Thea couldn’t sleep, as tired and as gone as she was. She tried to laugh, giddy with
excitement, but only managed a sputtering. They were close.
The final bend, the water revealed itself in full. Surrounded by peaks of black sand, it looked
supernatural. Small plants bordered the edges. A natural spring.
Poliz slammed down on the accelerator, already thinking how he might swim in the water,
drinking it vigorously up, and laughing like there's no tomorrow. Careening towards it, he was
too late when he noticed black boulder that laid itself under the sand like a lurking beast.
The buggy wouldn’t stop.
Connect.
Crash.
Window smash, Poliz soaring through the hot air before splashing down into the water, the
blood and water swirling and mixing. Darkness.
Poliz awoke coughing, but coughing in a way that he never experienced. He was drowning.
Pulling himself up, he stood knee deep in the water that suddenly seemed filled with malice.
The dune buggy was upside down, half crushed, and coated in a fiery pillar that reached
reverently into the sky.
Poliz suddenly realized.
He was lonelier than before.
Writing Exercise 3

Swirling black mist. Heavy winds.

The alleyway was littered with blackened, damp trash.
A fire? Or was this just how things were down here.
Down Under.
My eyes dilated suddenly. Light nearby.
Head turning, whipping about.
A flashlight. A hidden silhouette.
A Hat.
A bombastic hail of tommy gun fire erupted like a volcano,
My body is attempting to move, to dodge, to escape.
Too slow, too human.
The cold feeling of my warm blood dripping outward, melting into the concrete, blackening the
ground even more.
He… she stood over me. It was hard to tell.
The flashlight lit the gunmetal gray barrel that was trained at my chest.
I could move, I could try, but I wasn’t feral.
I was no animal, and I knew I had lost.
As those final moments of silence rang out, louder than anything,
the world stood still.
I couldn’t feel my own heart beating.
The black mist swirled about my shaking body.
The gun, almost imperceptibly, was shaking slightly.
Neither of us moved.
Did she want me to fight?
What did she… he want?
The silence grew, deafening.
I started to attune to my surroundings,
Slight dripping, slight dropping.
My left knee had become sore.
My eyes, for whatever reason, trained onto
Her… his hat.
Hard to discern much beyond shape with the light pincering my eyes.
A Wide brimmed, tall gallon style hat. I could see a beautiful ribbon hanging down the left side.
It was familiar, but I didn’t know why. Too much blood. Not enough time.
Then I realized. As the mist swirled and threatened to grab me, tug me down, to hell.
She… no, no.
I guess not.
The smoking barrel trailed off into the sky, until it dissipated like a memory.