by S. K. Een
you for your unstinting encouragement and support on my road to becoming a writer.
And, always and forever, thank you to Ann Langusch, Lucas McKenna, Christine Nagel. Susanna Bryceson and Tracey Rolfe for giving me the skills to put my words out in the world in the first place.
About the Author
S. K. Een is the more romantically-inclined, humorous, undead, absurd, man-friendly pseudonym of a Melbournian indie author. At Port Carmila they post often-comedic ficlets, stories and other fictional works set in Port Carmila and beyond. At Texts From Port Carmila they post daily, utterly-not-worksafe doses of Port Carmila text ridiculousness.
Een’s works include Death is Only a Theoretical Concept.
K. A. Cook is a masculine-presenting, genderless, feminist queer driven to write about non-binary and unconventional souls, mental illness, chronic pain and strong women. Currently a Professional Writing and Editing student and an editor-publisher in the making, K. A. dreams of starting an e-press publishing queer non-romance genre fiction. In the meantime, K. A. spends their time collecting swap cards and fashion dolls, blogging, and coming up with ever more inventive ways to turn their life experiences into fiction. At Queer Without Gender they write personal essays about hero narratives, creativity, the publishing industry, queerness, gender and mental illness.
Cook’s works include Crooked Words and The Stillwater Files: Asylum.
Whatever Great-Aunty Lizzie Says
Welcome to Port Carmila, population 15, 725. Half that count isn’t even human, and that’s not including feral zombies, ghouls and ghosts, mostly because they don’t stand still long enough for counting. It’s a melting pot of the living, the immortal, and the dead … where death means you still have to pay the rent, the merfolk are experts in tax evasion, everybody hates the corny Dead Centre of Australia T-shirts sold at the tourist information centre, and the local police encourage you to carry a weapon at all times, regardless of legality. Sometimes the zombies aren’t your much-loved next-door neighbours…
For Steve Nakamura, the high summer days at Port Carmila with his best mates and new boyfriend should have been a breeze. Sure, there’s tourists, ferals, immunologists and an overzealous ally boss to be navigated, not to mention Abe’s anxiety over touching, but there’s nothing to stop him from figuring out how to sleep with Abe and keep on breathing at the same time—until a vampire in a frock coat turns up at Abe’s door.
For Abe Browning, Great-Aunty Lizzie is a harridan in heels who claims vampire-breather relationships are inherently doomed, but, worse than that, Steve doesn’t seem to care that he’s putting his life at risk when it comes to Abe and the zombie hunt. What is an anxious vampire supposed to do when Steve’s recklessness makes Great-Aunty Lizzie’s objections all the more rational? Breaking up with Steve should solve the problem, so why can’t Abe stand the very thought?
Why did no one ever mention that the hardest part of dating a breather has nothing to do with blood or immortality?