Note For Anyone Writing About Me

Guide to Writing About Me

I am an Autistic person,not a person with autism. I am also not Aspergers. The diagnosis isn't even in the DSM anymore, and yes, I agree with the consolidation of all autistic spectrum stuff under one umbrella. I have other issues with the DSM.

I don't like Autism Speaks. I'm Disabled, not differently abled, and I am an Autistic activist. Self-advocate is true, but incomplete.

Citing My Posts

MLA: Zisk, Alyssa Hillary. "Post Title." Yes, That Too. Day Month Year of post. Web. Day Month Year of retrieval.

APA: Zisk, A. H. (Year Month Day of post.) Post Title. [Web log post]. Retrieved from

Saturday, September 14, 2013

By Smoke or By Fire

I sometimes write fanfiction. Since I'm doing a fanfiction related challenge, I'm writing even more of it. Characters and universe belong to Tamora Pierce. I put this on Archive of our Own first. 

Trigger Warning: Death

“Halt!” Beka shouted. The man she chased carried a lit torch and lamp oil, both stolen- the oil from one of the nearby shops, the torch from the door on the way out. Oil and torch made for a deadly combination, and the man showed no sign of slowing or stopping. Her partner, Rusnill, was no distance runner, and he began to fall behind. She dared not slow to let him catch up, not when her quarry carried such dangerous goods.
Whistle in mouth, calling for her fellow guards with every exhale, she followed the man into the Cesspool. Though her legs were not tiring, the man was ever so slightly faster. That may have saved her life - just as she was reaching the warehouse she saw the man duck into, flames billowed out. She stopped and stared. In the Cesspool, there would be few sources of water, not enough to put the fire out. “Does anyone have rags?”
No one answered. She asked again. “Anyone? A wet rag over nose and mouth can be the difference between life and death for a mot or cove in a fire!”
A small girl, looking to be not more than five, tugged at her sleeve with one arm, trying to pull her apron off with the other. “Mama says you can have my apron if you get me a new one after.” Beka looked up at the woman she guessed to be the mother, who nodded, and helped the girl take the apron off. “My papa's in there,” the girl said.
Beka cut the apron into smaller pieces as she jumped into the gutter. Above the mud, piss, and scummer was a thin stream of water that she used to soak the apron pieces, then put one over her face and jumped into a basement window not yet full of flames.
Immediately she regretted it. While the basement of the abandoned warehouse was not yet on fire, pieces of the floor were starting to fall. In a corner, she saw someone. Curled up, he looked to be breathing through his shirt. Smart man. As quick as could be, she made her way to him. She tapped his shoulder, handing him one of the apron pieces with the tapping hand while holding her own piece over her face with the other. He accepted it, standing when she tugged his arm.
“The stairs are no good,” he told her.
“We're going out the same window I came in.”
He stared at her, but he followed. As they reached the window she had climbed in, she heard groaning- not a human groan. The ceiling was groaning. Beka cursed. “Pull yourself up,” she told the man. “I'll give you a boost.” He nodded and grabbed the bottom of the window, pulling himself as Beka pushed. He fit- barely, and once he was out he extended his arm back to help pull Beka up. He coughed, and kept coughing.
“Papa!” Beka heard a girl shriek. It was the girl who had given her the apron. The girl ran to meet her father, her mother close behind. The man she rescued smiled weakly at his partner and child, and kept coughing.

Beka woke with a start, Pounce digging his claws into her shoulder. As much as it hurt, she was grateful not to watch the man cough himself to death in front of wife and children again. He hadn't even been able to keep his feet- towards the end, he had fallen into the gutter, dying in the mud.

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