I set out to write a post about climate fiction or reading the geophysical landscape or talking plants, but instead I detoured to write a drabble. Because some days are just like that.
* * *
Help Wanted: Must Love Laser Sharks
The day dawned cold and dispirited. Nila gently set her coffee on the table to keep from screaming. Her mother had ejected her from The Lair exactly one year ago.
She scanned the classifieds out of habit. A new ad caught her eye:
Assistant needed. Must:
- understand the intricacies of shark breeding;
- be comfortable with most weaponry (prepare for mortal danger);
- be skilled in fire management (including molten lava).
Salary negotiable; you keep what you kill.
Yes, please. Six months, twelve max, and she’d take over this aging villain’s empire. Her mother wouldn’t know what hit her.
* * *
J.R. Johnson 
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