So, now I've branched out. I started a second short story, and now I've written three short pieces for drama. Two are short plays; the third is a monologue. Here is the current draft, in full.
They weren’t quite sure how it happened. Not that they had a lot of time to figure it out. It might have been a freak mutation, DNA gone wrong. Might have been some sort of sickness, a ruminantarian Mad Cow Disease. There was even speculation of malevolent action.
How it happened is beyond mattering now. Somehow, a small population escaped, and they multiplied like rabbits. They grow and breed at over ten times the natural rate. They eat everything organic, strip the soil bare.
They reached a critical point sometime in March, and the population exploded. Within a week, half of Nebraska was wasteland. Some folks managed to get out. Most didn’t. The military did their best, but they were ill-prepared to fight the massive herds. Three nuclear weapons barely dented the population. Biological weapons were useless. Somehow, the Joint Chiefs didn’t anticipate warfare against llamas.
It didn’t take long for the internet to dub it ‘Llamapocalypse”. Cute name, but no one was laughing. The rest of the world will survive; they quarantined the continent immediately. They finished dynamiting the Panama Canal bridges last week. But North America is reduced to a few defensive perimeters – New York, D.C., Denver. Some will hold. Life might return to the land someday.
As for me, well, it’s times like this that I really regret ever learning math. It’s the world’s worst word problem. If the tallest building in Cincinnati is one hundred meters high, and the llamas pile on an extra meter every single hour, will my meager food supplies run out before or after I become llama chow?