What are Ozlandish Writings?

From July 2010 to December 2014 we ran OZLAND PICTURE STORIES as described below. Sadly though the number of writers reduced over the years and we decided to call it a day. We leave these as a record of the good times we had.

Are "You" ready to challenge your writing skills? Then participate in our OZLAND Picture Stories writing series at The Ozland Art Gallery.

Each month a new picture will be picked, from our OZLAND Artist of the Month collection, with different themes. Your goal is to write a 500-1000 word... poem... essay... or story about the picture picked. This is a chance for you to challenge your writing skills each month. Story can be written in ANY genre... sci fi... romance... ghost... fantasy... fiction... non-fiction... biography... mystery... historical... whatever your writing genre... feel free to experiment. Send your writing inworld to Sven Pertelson as a notecard to have it included on the web site. We meet at the The Ozland Art Gallery each Wednesday at Noon and 6pm SLT to read the latest submissions on voice. More Information

Wednesday, February 27, 2013

"Time Enough at Last" PART 4 by Llola Lane

"Time Enough at Last" PART 4 by Llola Lane

I look around and see a police car up the road. With luck there will be a gun in the car and then I can end this agony. No Reader... No People... No Nothing... I can't live forever like this. The car does have a gun. I pick it up and sit on the ground crying. I put the gun to my head, my hand on the trigger...

"Oh... I can't be the only one left alive." I cry out loud one last time. "Can ANYBODY hear me???"

My voice echoes in the streets but no one answers me. The gun is shaking as I pull back the trigger. Oh anything is better than this misery of being alone...

Just as I'm about to put the trigger, I see something familiar through my thick glasses. It is a building that I remember going to a thousand times as a child. Is that the Public Library? I have not been there in years. Since I got my reader I have been downloading all my stories over the internet. Now there is no internet. I put the gun down and wipe my glasses. It is not a mirage. It IS the library. "There are books in the library," I tell myself. "LOTS of books waiting to be read."

I run to the steps of the library. The wind has blown leaves all over them. I slip on a leaf and almost fall. I catch myself. I'm so excited. I must be more careful though. Up the steps I run and stop at the door. I hope it is unlocked. The door creaks open. The smell of books fills my nose. Standing in the doorway I peer in. Thousands of books greet my eyes.... everywhere I look there are books.

Walking over to the counter where the librarian should be, I can see there is no one behind the counter. Good... I don't want to see any more dead bodies. I pick up a book and feel the pages. The paper cuts my finger but I don't care. I can read! There are books for a hundred lifetimes here. I think of all the books I want to read. I start making a pile on the counter.

Smiling as I dance through the library I am no longer alone. I have Hemingway... Byron... Holmes... Clemens... Emerson... Longfellow... Fitzgerald... and even my beloved Poe to keep me company. I find the book of poems that my wife ruined. Now it is mine forever, to read at my whim. I even find David Copperfield. Good... now I can finish the story.

The rest of the day is spent sorting through the books I have piled on the counter. I pick up a book and try to read. It is dark in here. I need to find somewhere in the light to read. Looking around I decide to pile my books out on the steps in the sun. It is a glorious day I can sit and read comfortably there. I have a few hours until sunset I can start reading my Poe or finish my David Copperfield. "Hummm... Which shall I read first?" I ask myself.

As I bend down to pick up my first book, I stumble on a leaf and my glasses fall off my face. I can hear them shatter as they hit the ground. I pick up the broken remains of my glasses. I am blind without them! I try to read a page of a book. The words are all blurry. I can't see!!! "That's not fair. That's not fair at all. There was time now. There was all the time I needed...! That's not fair!" I burst into tears, surrounded by my books, I can now NEVER read.


The best laid plans of mice and men... A small man with glasses who wanted nothing but time. He is now just a part of a smashed landscape, just a piece of the rubble, just a fragment of what man has deeded to himself. A small man...in... the OZLAND Zone.

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