I have been trying to write from the male perspective and in a different tone; I am working on an apocalyptic story right now playing with this. Went over a couple sentences, had to chop up some run-on ones happening. The main character, Scott, is a crass young man and survivalist. Slightly crude opening alert. Thanks for reading and check out other awesome writers at wewriwa.com
I always thought when the end came I’d be ready. Safe in my steel-reinforced bunker with a year’s supply of food, water, and weapons. A good woman would’ve been nice, minus the extra yapping mouth to feed. In all those scenarios, I was never jerking off in my living room, porn on, trousers down.
I wrenched my arm from under me to pull my boxers up. They were gritty, but it was better than smashing myself against the ikea monstrosity pinning me to the couch, raining survival books and harry potter down on me. Wriggling my toes, I slithered into the tiny space between the shelf and couch. I brushed the slivers of my Nana’s coffee table from my hairy legs, standing and pulling up my jeans. My eyes adjusted, the bookshelf and coffee table were the only casualties – the shelf a new addition.
“Should’ve bolted it up first thing,” I muttered, wincing when I put weight on my leg.
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