At the end of the world, Karim breathed. It wasn’t ideal, but this was how it was. His own mind had already pointed out that when everything else is finished, whatever’s left behind will do. And it wasn’t much. The fighting had been – catastrophic. The deaths too many to count and his scars and cuts too few and too shallow to mean anything, because he was still alive. He crushed his fist into his open palm and squeezed back the tears. It wasn’t much when you considered all that was left were a few battle wounds, and the pending dawn.

Afterword; A quick short story just for you (my travel weary reader), told in one hundred words. Sometimes I close my eyes and characters like Karim are there, waiting for me to tell the story of their existence in whatever form comes – be that a one hundred word drabble, or a one hundred thousand word novel. I hope you like it?

With love and darkness, J R Manawa.