Slowly but surely, other survivors of the catastrophe known simply as ’The Brutal Murder of a Peaceable Community of Pen-Lovers by those AOL Bastards" began emerging.
You’d think that the others on the island would have thought to check some of the nooks and crannies on the rather large bit of land, but no. Understandable of course, after the shock the went through. Laine P. Grey came straggling through the bushes, dragging an almost delirious Saint Chuck (who seemed to be clutching an invisible ball) behind her.
Day after day, more authors arrived, claiming they had been called to the beach by an invisible force. Stovohobo even reported that his pen had started twitching in his hand shortly after Ficly went live. Coincidence? Probably not.
Soon a type of tent city was errected, with tents scribbled full of ideas, reenactments of once famous ficlets taking place in the sand and bonfire storytelling going on around the clock.
THX sat watching the authors with a grin and said to Kevin: