Based in Atlanta, Georgia, Amber peace uses her poetry and larp writing to explore themes of ptsd, abuse, love, and relationships.

Beat of a Different Drum

For a town of music, the people of 40 Watt sure were quiet. Quiet and sad. Even she had been sucked into the mood during the Open Mic. She didn't sing that song often and rarely in front of strangers. Treasure touched the necklace.

Fuck Genjians.

She pulled it off and the earrings, tucking them into the bottom of her box. When her or any of the other Vegasians tried to play music, people yelled - and zero blowcaine. It was as if people were new to the whole dying and short lives, zeds and raiders. Fuck, if a person had an hour of silence for every fucker who died, music would never happen. Celebration of the good shit would constantly get pushed off. The dead don't fucking care. Either they want people at the morgue when they come out, or they aren't coming out at all and it doesn’t matter. Treasure wrinkled her nose. People needed to start celebrating the moments of victory and the lives lost. Fuck this melancholy. The KCs in 40 Watt need to lead and they need a new anthem.

She grabbed her flag and walked outside. Pacing around, Treasure hummed a few songs, trying out a couple of spins until she found what she wanted.

"The day we're born we start to die
Don't waste one minute of this life..."

A Weed by Any Other Name