The zombies were about to break into the apartment. She had to finish her work now. She wasn’t sure how the human race would survive, or if they would be able to access Macs in the future. But she had faith in hypothetical survivors.

The zombies outside groaned forgotten gibberish while clawing at the doors. She couldn’t escape, but at least she could finish this paper on Arthurian Romance. Her thesis was good, and maybe this paper would be all that survived on the subject. She hit save, her door already beginning to splinter under the assault of decaying limbs.

Author’s Note: During undergrad I’d sometimes panic about what I had accomplished with my life so far, and how, if at all, I would be remembered in an apocalypse/post-apocalypse setting.

Categories: Fiction, Gabrielle Friesen | 1 Comment »

A rougarou is different from a loup garou is different from a werewolf, in varying degrees. This is a thing that they all know, again in varying degrees. The different transformations even entail their own different sorts of loneliness. Self-imposed, forced, cultural.

Mercifully, the whole family was bitten, and transformed together. The fear of loneliness melted away, along with their blunt teeth and nails. The next day, they continued to be able to look one another in the eye. Their familial support was the same; only they made sure to stock the fridge with more beef than they had before.

Author’s Note: A lot of werewolf narratives have loneliness as a main theme, even though wolves and humans are both very social animals.

Categories: Fiction, Gabrielle Friesen | 2 Comments »