Makin’ pancakes makin’ bacon pancakes. Makin’ bacon and I put it in a pancake. Bacon pancakes that’s what I’m gonna make bacon pancaaaaakes.


That sums up my state of mind right about now. I’m tired, I managed to write 950 words despite not starting to write until after 6:30 this evening and I am done. Oh, that  break from Seize the Day? Yeah, that didn’t last very long. I started chapter 8, some of which can be seen below:

Ryin ignored the pinching in his shoulder as he adjusted his backpack one last time. Two weeks. He had been wandering around the southwestern corner of Capital City for two weeks. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand, gritting his teeth as he climbed up a rusty fire-escape. He needed to get to the top of this rundown apartment complex — the sooner he had a higher vantage point, the better. Maybe, just maybe, he’d be able to finally find Jazz if he did.

Of course, being up high meant putting himself at greater risk. Meant possibly being seen, by the NBEA or civilians who might find his presence suspicious. After two weeks, he could throw caution to the winds, just this once. The NBEA hadn’t left the area he and Jazz had agreed to meet. Either they had heard their conversation, or they were getting smarter. Learning how he and Jazz operated and using that to their advantage. No matter what the reason, Ryin’s stomach still twisted even once he managed to make it to the building’s rooftop.

He took a moment to lie down on the roof. To let the chilled concrete soothe his aching muscles. Muscles that hadn’t relaxed since he and Jazz had separated. Muscles that tensed further whenever he heard even the slightest hint of bullets whizzing in the air. None of them had been aimed at him in weeks — not since he left Jazz behind in that alleyway. When his stomach clenched again, Ryin forced himself to sit upright, slipping his backpack off his shoulder. He frowned when he noticed how low his supplies had gotten; the same frown deepened when he thought how Jazz had even less in his bag. How they hadn’t starved to death in all those months spent on the run….

Ryin shook his head, clearing that thought away. After a few moments, Ryin pushed himself back to his feet and walked the perimeter of the rooftop, looking out in all directions. The desert sun was setting, its visage huge and stark against the growing night sky. The sun always seemed to go down fighting.

Jazz wouldn’t have gone down without one, either.