Last Riter On Erath: a sorht story by GF Willmetts (fiction).
All the booke agents, one after the other, said I was never good enough to be a professional riter but not really telling me where I was going wrnog. I worked on my spieling. Making fewer misteaks. The last one seid I would have to be the last riter on erath to be a bestseller, not realizing how prolific he was.
Tgeir was a sudden atomic war. Few survivors. Even few who culd rite.
The once told American kids when the alarm for a nuclear attack to get under their desks with their asses up in the air. Not that would make anything different. They would have still been fried so only boneash would remain. Why scare them about that?/ Let the last thing they see wood be the floor not a light so bright that it would burn they eyes out before their brains and death.
Wasn’t a proper nuclear war. Used neutron bombs. Zapped organics. Left the real estate. Also destroyed farm animals. Any animals. Any plant life. Food supply anything in tins. Even they have a shelf life. Somethjing might grow agin.
Whoever set it off didn’t destroy everywhere. The people in the bunkers let off the conventinal nukes. No winners. All losers. A few of us left in the aftermoth. Below ground level. Neutron was clean. No radiation. I only stayed underground a week before discovering that. Jist luckie.
You would thinink looking for food and scavenging would take all day. Man can’t live on scavenging alone. We’re not cavemen and various supermarkets are open in a way only Chuck Heston could only dream of. Enough canned food if you liked it. Shame bresad couldn’t be canned. Pklenty of dough though. Enough to cook.
So why not have ambitions? Why not fenish my book? People will wnst a knew book to reid and no one using the printeing prisses.
All riters need a reader. I wasn’t the only survior. There were other people out there. A potential audience and readers. Sum of them said once they caught up on their reading, they would reed me. How many knew books were their, specially bout the end of the world? Who else was going to thinink of that. They were jjoing up. Sociable animsls. Peeple alwhys need talint. Peeple like me.
My noval was nearly finished. It didn’t take long to finish. The wird processior cheked my spoeeling. My bist yet.
Do I have to mak the effort for anyone but myself? Of course, I dont want to just be the last
writer but at least the best. They must want something knew to read? Id be the last riter.
Damn. One of the pro-riters survived. Maybe I can give him lesons. Things I learnt when their was no agent to represent me. Mayybe she wont want to rite. Mayybe Ill be the only riter out there.
Ende
© GF Willmetts 2024
All rights reserved
Ask before borrowing
Before you ask, it takes a lot of hard work to spiel poorly.
Word Processors and correct some mistakes
but really have no idea what you’re writing and just assume it makes sense.
