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The idea behind this blog is to share my opinions about Post-Apocalyptic Literature, Films and Ephemera as well as my random nattering on a regular basis.

Monday, March 10, 2014

Snowfall by Mitchell Smith

'But it's so sad,' Catina said.

'What, Trade-Honey?' Jack said, and turned to kiss her.

'Don't you see, Jack? It means the Garden people are sliding down. It means we're all still sliding down, not coming up to Warm-time ways.'

'Didn't you know this?' Jack settled back into his furs. 'I thought you knew that. When I was in Map-Missouri, the people there talked about a man who tried to make black gun-powder lifetimes ago. But it only hissed and made smoke. When he kept trying, it finally made one of the big old bangs and killed him. After that, everyone felt it was too uncertain to try in cold country - and bad luck besides.'

'It's just so sad! We're not stupid, Jack. Garden Mary's not stupid. Why are we all still sliding down?'

'Don't know .... Nobody has that many Copybooks - really and very few How-To-Dos. Mostly bad-people stories and complaining stories, and love stories.' He blew a puff of frosty breath up in the air, apparently to watch it, silver, in the moonlight.

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