Irrational anger bubbled to the surface and all I could think about was murdering the map. “BY MOTHRA’S NIPPLES! I FUCKING HATE THIS MAP!” I decided the map was clearly written by masochistic-doodling ancient Egyptians because everything was hieroglyphics and unreadable doodads. I enjoyed the violent sound of the paper rumpling in my hands. This was the same paper map I would again have to consult, and likely with the same outcome-another two hours spent driving up and down this godforsaken mountain road.Ĭalming breaths were coming out as slightly hysterical huffs as I snatched the map from the passenger’s seat. I was fairly certain I’d pulled off at this exact spot an hour ago in a futile attempt to consult the paper map now crumpled on my passenger seat. I tried to ignore that this overlook felt suspiciously familiar. Driving while crying is like eating while crying, or having sex while crying: weird, wet (not in a good way), and dangerous. Which is why I pulled my tiny rental car off the side of the mountain road as soon as I spotted an overlook. And when I’m extremely frustrated, I cry.Īt present, I was very close to crying. Alternate reality, body-snatching aliens or not, I was now beyond frustrated. I was so lost not even aliens could find me. Perhaps everyone else had been abducted by aliens. Perhaps I was now the last person left on the face of the earth. I hadn’t seen another car, let alone a pedestrian, in over an hour. A desperate lost, half wondering if I’d crossed over into a new dimension and would never be found lost.

To the very capable engineers responsible for Microsoft Windows 10. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, photographed, Instagrammed, tweeted, twittered, twatted, tumbled, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without explicit written permission from the author. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead or undead, events, locales is entirely coincidental if not somewhat disturbing/concerning.Ĭopyright © 2016 by Penny Reid All rights reserved. Names, characters, places, rants, facts, contrivances, and incidents are either the product of the author’s questionable imagination or are used factitiously.

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