George R.R. Martin’s “Skinny Bitch: The Novel”
Industry insiders are worried that Rory Freedman’s book deal for a novelization of her popular vegan diet bible, Skinny Bitch, will throw into jeopardy George R.R. Martin’s own, nearly-finished manuscript. We’ve obtained an excerpt from the first installment of what Martin envisioned as a nineteen-part epic.
Yagen waited, listening, with her back to the battle. It would not be long now. She had waded in with the first push, a slim, wraith-like figure, and men fell before her like waves of whole grain before the scythe.
Then, as always, Yagen paused, and her herald had run to her with a salad of mixed greens and sunflower seeds.
‘My lady,’ he said. ‘It will take all the nut butters we possess to sustain you, if you keep up this pace.’
‘Should I then leave my men? My horses?’
As she spoke, a riderless horse winged past her on the right, pursued fruitlessly by a waddling knight, hampered by his heavy suit of armor.
‘If we could but bridle and saddle the horses, my lady, this would happen with less frequency,’ her herald said, carefully.
‘The horses serve us as they will,’ Yagen replied. ‘I require more seeds.’
‘Steeds?’
‘Seeds.’
As he bowed and departed, Yagen’s thoughts were already elsewhere, in the castle whose defenses her men were preparing to breach. Her best friend, Elinor, ruled within, and if Yagen closed her eyes and pictured her retreating further and further into the keep, a sly grin spread slowly from ear to ear.
She and Yagen had lived together in college. They had fought, bitterly and often, about whether their fridge was a neutral space for dairy products, and if Elinor could use the white cutting board for chicken; if, moreover, visitors could get pepperoni on their half of the pizza.
Elinor had been an ally, too, Yagen admitted with regret. She had cast withering glances at the frat boys who mocked Yagen’s daiya nachos, and had explained to her mother exactly why the Thanksgiving sweet potatoes were no longer topped with marshmallows.
But then, Yagen reminded herself, straightening her already excellent posture, she — Yagen — was kind of a bitch. She longed to taste the blood of her enemies, and Elinor had gotten in her way one too many times.
‘Bring her to me, when you find her,’ Yagen had instructed.
And then the crowd parted, and she appeared, defiant despite the chains wrapped about her feet.
‘My mother always hated you because you were so thin,’ spat Elinor, wiping the blood from her face.
‘Now she will hate me all the more: for killing her daughter,” Yagen replied.
As Yagen drove the blade into Elinor’s chest, she became hungry. That happened a lot.