Tag Archives: february2020

Lisa Criss Griffin: Staying Behind

Welcome to Write the Story! Each month Writers Unite! will offer a writing prompt for writers to create a story from and share with everyone. WU! wants to help our members and followers to generate more traffic to their platforms.  Please check out the authors’ blogs, websites, Facebook pages and show them support. We would love to hear your thoughts about the stories and appreciate your support! 

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Staying Behind

By Lisa Criss Griffin

The rumbling roar of jet engines overhead caught the attention of the man standing alone in the middle of the eerily quiet city street. There was no traffic, and no pedestrians other than himself. The usual cacophony of city noises had disappeared along with the city residents. As far as he knew, he was the last man standing within the city limits.

James watched the airliner pass overhead as it struggled to clear the silent skyscrapers surrounding him. His two boys were on that plane. He felt his throat constrict as he recalled how close they came to not making the flight.

The flights leaving the city had dwindled to a handful of planes over the last few days, and seats were increasingly hard to come by. The fighting over seats on the planes had turned deadly very quickly. The airport terminal looked like a war zone. People with authentic tickets for the last flight out had to pick their way through corpses just to get to the gate.

Their plane was the last flight out of the city, probably for a very long time. James’ older sister Lila was a flight attendant on the flight, and she was the only reason he had been able to procure the seat. He had been forced to make a devastating choice due to the airliner’s weight restrictions. James could have retained his seat, but the twin toddlers would have had to stay. It wasn’t a difficult choice for him. Those little boys had their whole lives in front of them. He was determined to give them a chance to survive. He would never callously abandon them here in the city, all alone, the way their biological parents had done.

The two little twins cried pitifully when he had to debark the plane. It broke his heart to see the terror in their faces along with their small arms outstretched towards him, begging him to come back. Lila gazed at her younger brother through the tears welling up in her eyes. She cried openly as she hugged James goodbye and promised him she would look after his boys. They certainly stood a better chance of surviving somewhere else.

James rubbed his hands through his sun-streaked blond hair in relief as the plane cleared the downtown area and banked westward. It was a lovely, clear day that held no hint of the horrors stalking the city. He took a moment to enjoy the warmth of the sunshine on his weary face.

The recent rash of natural disasters plaguing the planet was mind boggling. The order to evacuate the city had caught everyone by surprise, although it shouldn’t have. It was merely another place on the growing list of impending casualties.

He was enormously fatigued and needed to find a safe place to hide before the sun went down. James was not certain he was the only person left downtown, and his harrowing experiences with highly desperate people over the past week made him cautious.

He strolled over to a solid looking high rise and peered up towards the penthouse. The building itself was stout with thick concrete walls. It would have to do. The electricity had been shut down citywide, so he had to take the stairs all the way to the top.

An hour later, he found himself slogging up the final staircase. The gray exit door loomed enticingly just a few steps above him. James pulled the heavy metal door open and fell into the lobby in relief. The door clanged shut behind him with a note of finality.

After a few moments, James stood up and scanned his surroundings. He found himself in a posh penthouse restaurant. Most of the outer walls were floor to ceiling windows. The views of the city and the ocean in the distance were breathtaking. He thought it morbidly marvelous that his final moments would include this panoramic vista.

His stomach grumbled in rebellion over his involuntary fast over the last two days. James made his way to the kitchen, salivating at the thought of food. He scavenged the pantry shelves and found a loaf of french bread, some fruit and a lovely bottle of dry white wine.

James selected a table with an amazing view. He popped the cork, filling his glass with the fragrant wine. A low rumble reverberated through the building as he sipped from his glass. The tremors were increasing in frequency. He had expected this and it no longer concerned him. The boys were safe. What happened next was out of his hands.

He pulled off a piece of the bread and savored the flavor as he chewed it. Somebody sure knew how to make bread, he mused in satisfaction. He almost choked as something unexpectedly rubbed up against his leg. James jumped up in surprise, causing his chair to bounce across the carpet. A black blur shot across the floor and into the kitchen.

Intrigued, James made his way into the kitchen, looking for whatever had accosted him at the table. He searched the room thoroughly. Whatever it was, did not want to be found. He sighed and opened a couple of cabinets out of curiosity. He removed a can of tuna, pulled open the pop-top and dumped the tuna on a plate. He carried the plate back to his table, deciding to place it on the floor several feet away. Now he waited.

James took a sip of wine after another tremor rattled the building. He saw a furtive movement by the kitchen. He focused on the view of the ocean while he watched the creature slink from the kitchen out of the corner of his eye.

James pulled off another piece of the delicious bread and popped it into his mouth. The creature stopped, then resumed stalking the plated tuna. The smell of the fish enticed the small animal, beckoning to it with an irresistible aroma. It padded up to the plate on the floor and looked up at James with hesitant light blue eyes before taking a bite of tuna.

“Hey, kitty,” James cooed gently.

The tiny black kitten turned his head and met James’ eyes before resuming his feast.

“That’s a good kitty. You are a sweet kitty, aren’t you?”

The kitten chomped his tuna with gusto, shooting James a quick glance in reply.

“Poor little fella. It has been a while since you’ve eaten. You go right ahead, I won’t bother you.”

James refilled his wine glass and resumed his enjoyment of the panorama just beyond his table. The ocean looked choppy. He supposed the tremors could be responsible for some of it, but he could also see the hint of a dark cloud bank creeping over the edge of the ocean. It was a reminder that his time was getting short.

The kitten rubbed against his leg, then turned and placed his velvety paws on James’ calf, asking to be held. James looked into the kitten’s upturned fuzzy face and smiled.

“Yes, you can come up here,” James chuckled.

He reached down and lifted the furry fellow into his arms, enjoying the contact with the purring feline. James held him gently against his chest with one hand while he sipped his wine with the other. The kitten was soon fast asleep, safely snuggled in the crook of his new friend’s arm.

James sighed and petted the kitten’s head gently. He was glad he wouldn’t be completely alone when the time came. He felt momentary guilt over the kitten’s impending fate but realized the little fellow was also no longer alone and hungry, no matter what happened. James relaxed and enjoyed the view while he finished his meal.

He could see the wind picking up. Trees were beginning to bend and whip around. Bits of paper, trash, and loose leaves danced with abandon as the strong breeze funneled them through the narrow spaces between the buildings. James looked out at the ocean and realized the dark cloud was no longer out to sea. The sunlight faded and was replaced with the thudding of wind-driven rain against the building. He thought he felt another tremor, but it was becoming difficult to tell the difference between the storm band from the hurricane and the quakes.

He rose, the kitten snuggled carefully to his side. The kitten looked up at him, blinking sleepily.

“Hey, let’s go find someplace a little safer to try and ride out this thing, okay?”

The kitten answered him with a trusting yawn. They went back into the kitchen area, which was centrally located. James came across a walk-in freezer and a walk-in refrigerator. He started to open the door of the refrigerator and immediately slammed it shut. The stench of rotting food was unbearable.

He was almost afraid to open the freezer door. He cracked the door open and sniffed. It was still cold in there, and nothing smelled rotten. He cleared away a small area and covered it with a pile of clean tablecloths he had seen earlier. It would do for a bed, if needed. He added some bottled water, wine and a few other snack foods that looked good. And the rest of the canned tuna.

The kitten had returned to finish off what was left of the tuna while James made his preparations. James allowed him to finish before scooping him up in his arms. The kitten greeted him with a wet snuffle on his cheek.

“Well, I guess I should at least give you a name.”

The kitten mewed in response.

“Hmmm…Mr. Mew? Mr. Mew? Yes, that fits!” James chuckled.

The two of them walked over to a window and looked outside. It was difficult to see anything beyond the adjacent buildings. He could hear a roaring sound in the distance. That couldn’t be good…. James and Mr. Mew had only taken a few steps away from the window when the building began to rock and shake violently. James fell to his knees, clutching the kitten carefully.

He watched helplessly as the building adjacent to them cracked in two and partially imploded. Several other skyscrapers swayed wildly. They crumbled, collapsed and were gone. His high rise creaked and groaned loudly, but miraculously it remained upright. James’ building appeared to be the sole sentinel remaining as the earthquake ended.

The man and the kitten watched a huge wave rolling in from the ocean. James was not able to tell how tall it really was, but it seemed to be getting higher the longer he looked at it. James clasped Mr. Mew and ran for the freezer. He had barely shut the freezer door behind them when something slammed the building. The entire building felt like it was moving backward as it slid off the foundation. The force of the jarring knocked James off his feet. He hit his head on something and everything went black. The deafening roar faded away as he slowly submerged into a serene place made of darkness and silence.

~~o~~

Something rough and wet was licking James’ cheek. He opened his eyes and blinked several times, seeing only blackness. The thought that he might be blind horrified him. He was frankly surprised he was still alive. Maybe he wasn’t, and these were his first moments in hell. It sure wasn’t heaven. He groaned and moved his limbs carefully. Everything seemed intact, but he hurt all over.

“I would suggest we get out of here,” a disembodied childlike voice stated.

“What? Who are you? Where are we?” James asked groggily.

He wondered how long he had been unconscious. And why was a little kid talking to him?

“We are still in the freezer. I was wondering if you were ever going to wake up. I was beginning to have my doubts,” the childlike voice said.

“Wait. Who the heck are you, and how did you get in here?” James wondered.

There was no answer, then James heard a small, exasperated sigh.

“It is me, Mr. Mew.”

“Cats can’t talk!” James snorted. “I must have hit my head harder than I thought.”

“I beg to differ,” Mr. Mew said calmly. “Has it ever occurred to you that we choose not to talk to humans? That there might be excellent reasons we don’t speak to you in your language? Reasons that are centuries old?”

“You aren’t making sense. Wait… this whole conversation makes no sense!”

“You do know that we were worshiped by some of the greatest human civilizations to ever rule on earth,” Mr. Mew continued. “Have you ever wondered why people believe cats have nine lives? And what about the myth about black cats being magical or evil?”

James squelched a cold rush of fear.

“Are you evil?” James whispered.

“Of course not,” Mr. Mews answered. “Are you?”

“Well, no,” James replied. “But I am seriously worried I might have hit my head too hard.”

“Well, you may have. Obviously, I have found it necessary to violate my oath of silence to get us out of here. The global disasters that have been plaguing the earth over the last three years are decimating both of our species. I do not intend to die in the dawn of this lifetime. I only have a few more lives left.”

James sat up slowly. His head was swimming. He felt disoriented and slightly nauseous. Something soft and furry nudged his arm encouragingly. He still couldn’t see anything, and rubbing his eyes didn’t help.

“Can you see anything?” James asked.

“Of course,” Mr. Mews replied.

“Where is the door?”

“Over there,” Mr. Mews stated. “Can’t you see it?”

“No! I can’t see anything,” James said.

“Oh, yes. It would be too dark in here for human eyes.”

“So…I might not be blind?”

“Probably not,” Mr. Mews answered. “The door is to your right. The freezer fell over, so I hope you can get the door open.”

James crawled to his right, ignoring the throbbing in his head. He put his hand out in front of himself and reached out to feel for the door.

“You have a couple more feet to go,” Mr. Mew observed.

James shuffled forward. His hand met cold metal. He felt his way along the wall, mapping the door in his head as he went. He found the door handle and grasped it with both hands.

“Wish me luck.”

“I wish you success,” Mr. Mew replied.

James turned the handle and pushed. The door opened slightly and stopped. A shaft of light entered the freezer.

“I can see!” James exclaimed excitedly.

Mr. Mew purred as he swirled his tail around James’ forearm in affirmation.

“Can you get it open enough for us to get out?”

“I’ll try. I’m going to kick it, so back up. I don’t want to accidentally hurt you.”

Mr. Mew backed away and sat down. James got into position, raised his legs and kicked the door. It opened a little more.

“Ugh. There is something blocking the door. It may take a few times.”

James kicked the door three more times, each kick opening the door further. He studied the opening to see if he could squeeze through it.

“One more time!” he told the kitten.

He put all his muscle into the final kick. There was a cracking sound and the door fell open. James and the kitten looked out of the doorway, amazed to see open sky.

They carefully crawled out of the door and were struck by the realization they were precariously perched on a pedestal overlooking the remains of the city. Most of their building was gone. There was a jagged circumference about fifteen feet in diameter surrounding the freezer. It was all that was left of the penthouse restaurant.

“Damn!” James whistled in amazement.

The kitten rubbed up against his hand. James picked up Mr. Mew and held him close, petting his head fondly. The kitten purred in delight. James felt the animal stiffen slightly and turn his head back towards the freezer.

“What is it? Do you hear something?”

The kitten stretched up and placed his paws on James’ chest, peering over his shoulder. The sound of chopper blades reverberated in the distance. James put Mr. Mew down and forced himself to crawl back into the freezer. He found the edge of a red tablecloth and pulled it out from a jumbled stack of debris. He backed out of the freezer carefully, the tablecloth clenched in his hand.

He stood up and began to wave the red tablecloth, praying someone in the chopper would see it. The helicopter continued moving away. James’ heart began to sink.

“Over here! Over here!” he screamed, waving the tablecloth in desperation.

James climbed on top of the overturned freezer and waved the red tablecloth frantically.

“Here, over here!!!” Mr. Mew shrieked, his fur standing on end.

The helicopter seemed to pause, then turned back towards them. It flew straight for them, eventually hovering over the man and the tiny black kitten.

James picked up Mr. Mew and tucked him safely into his shirt. He carefully slid off the freezer as a rescuer made his way down to them with a Stokes basket. Within a few minutes, the two of them found themselves safely stowed inside the helicopter.

The copilot looked at James closely and retrieved a small photograph wedged into his console. He turned back towards James after studying the picture.

“Are you…James Colton?”

“Why yes! How could you possibly know that?”

The copilot held up a small photo of James and Lila.

“Our flying philanthropist, Lila, sends her love. You are one freaking, lucky little brother!!!”

James leaned back in his seat, pulled the kitten out of his shirt and looked into the feline’s intelligent blue eyes.

“We’ve got family waiting for us who will absolutely love you, Mr. Mew.”

The little black kitten mewed softly in reply as the helicopter banked and headed westward.

***

Copyright 2020 Lisa Criss Griffin

All rights reserved

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Please visit Lisa on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authorlisacrissgriffin/

Rico Lamoureux: Perspective

Welcome to Write the Story! Each month Writers Unite! will offer a writing prompt for writers to create a story from and share with everyone. WU! wants to help our members and followers to generate more traffic to their platforms.  Please check out the authors’ blogs, websites, Facebook pages and show them support. We would love to hear your thoughts about the stories and appreciate your support! 

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Perspective

By Rico Lamoureux

“The first thing I’d do is run,” Simon said. “Just take off running like Forrest Gump. Then I’d drive a car. Go to the movies. Talk to a girl. How ’bout you, Jacob? What would you do if you were normal?”

“The same. But definitely the girl first.”

The two friends laughed, sharing in both understanding and longing, Simon perched atop a six-foot wall within the heart of the city, Jacob’s hands nearby as his safety net. The wall was part of some artsy display of the financial district, but he and Jacob had chosen it as their hangout spot for it suited them both — Simon enjoying the high view of being above most others while his buddy got to comfortably sit on the adjoining section which was two feet shorter, Jacob spending half his time gazing up towards the towering skyscrapers above, feeling small, feeling content.

“You ready to go under the knife next week?” Jacob asked, personally knowing all too well the answer to this rhetorical question.

“You’d think after sixteen surgeries,” Simon sighed, “but just as nervous for number seventeen. You remember those old Erector sets? I can’t help but feel like one every single time. And they’re already talking about eighteen, putting in pins in a few months.”

Trying to hide the cringe, Jacob shook his head. “I feel you. Just had mine removed a couple of years ago. Damn, I hate those parallel bars. Parallel bars, paralyzing pain.”

This is why they were so close, the two being able to share so much while appearing to be so different. Jacob, with his immovable tumor pressing up against his pituitary gland causing him to be seven and a half feet and still growing while little Simon and his dwarfism had him standing at a mere three feet three inches tall.

“One of these days, Simon,” Jacob assured as he gently placed a giant-sized hand against his dear friend’s tiny back while simultaneously looking up as a commercial jet flew by. “One of these days we’ll both run like Forrest, get the girl like DiCaprio, fly like Cruise. One of these days.”

And with such a declaration Jacob scooped Simon up into his ginormous hands, up against his huge chest and the two headed off down the street, ignoring the gawks, finger pointing, and occasional cell phones capturing what most would never really understand.

True friendship.

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All Rights Reserved

Please visit Rico on his blog: https://theflashfictionponder.com/

Paula Shablo: Sifting Through the End

Welcome to Write the Story! Each month Writers Unite! will offer a writing prompt for writers to create a story from and share with everyone. WU! wants to help our members and followers to generate more traffic to their platforms.  Please check out the authors’ blogs, websites, Facebook pages and show them support. We would love to hear your thoughts about the stories and appreciate your support! 

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Sifting Through the End

By Paula Shablo

Mae and Ash don’t come with us to the city anymore. I guess I can’t blame them. Neither of them remember much of what it used to be. They’re younger than we are, and we were pretty young ourselves when the city was a real place.

Well…I suppose I must admit it is still real enough. Maybe too real. What it isn’t, now, is a city. For me, that word implies “filled with people,” and that is no longer the case.

Let me elaborate. It is no longer filled with living people.

Sid and I have come here many times, salvaging. It is not fun, but it is necessary. It is never boring—the things that have survived are many and varied and sometimes—but not always—important.

When I made it my mission to salvage as much as possible from the surviving libraries, there were those in the settlements who thought I was crazy and wasting my time. Thankfully, these were a minority. Most of the people who managed to survive this mess did so because they were intelligent people searching for ways to make a difference that would ensure the continuation of the human race.

There have been plenty of salvagers focused on finding food and fuel. Sid and I have devoted countless hours and tons of elbow grease to that cause, so when we discovered the library, I insisted on being allowed to do something I wanted to do—save the books.

Even the naysayers ended up grateful for it. The “Do It Yourself” section alone was worth all the effort.

The periodical section of that building was destroyed, though. It figures; we wanted to know what led to this state of being, but it seems that even the weather has thwarted our efforts to find magazines and newspapers from the days just before the bombs fell.

We were underground by then. We were children then, too.

I try not to think of the days before the camp, the days when we had mothers to care for us and love us. They were taken, cruelly, but we survived and we’ve gone on in ways we hope will honor them.

I don’t know how I would have survived it all without Mae by my side. She was invaluable to me in caring for our baby sister, Dawn. Once we were rescued and taken to the camp, she became quite the little mother figure. Dawn, so traumatized she didn’t make a sound for months, blossomed under her care.

Sid and Ash had been through much the same as we sisters, and they became our constant companions growing up. Then they became our husbands. Mae and Ash usually tend the home fires, though, while Sid and I explore and salvage.

We persuaded them to join us a couple of times, but it didn’t go well. A wall collapsed right next to Mae one time, while we were taking canned goods out of an Asian market. She was covered in chalky dust, unhurt but shaken.

The next visit was the one that had left her reluctant to come again, though.

We had come in with a group in panel trucks, hoping to make our way a little deeper into the downtown area. There had been clusters of upper-scale restaurants there, and we were hoping for some good cooking utensils and pans, and possibly some canned and dried foods.

It sounds simple enough, but a lot of what happens on these trips is dragging debris out of the roads.

Often, some of that debris turns out to be human remains.

I don’t care how often you’ve done it, you don’t ever get used to it. You come to expect it on some level, and yet it is always a surprise—the turn of a shovel that reveals a femur, rotted flesh and denim still clinging to the bone. The jawbone. The skull with a mummified ear still embellished with a dazzling diamond earring.

No. You never get used to it.

One might think that the smell would reveal it before the shovel hit, but the truth is, the whole city stinks of death. We wear masks, always. So, there it is, that element of surprise, even in the face of expectation.

On this particular day, Grandpa had driven in a pickup with a front-end plow and spent a good deal of time trying to push and plow enough garbage out of the way so the panel trucks could get through the intersection. As always, remains were piled separately and would be burnt when we’d finished our searches.

Mae was sick with grief and disgust within minutes, so I made her climb over a smaller hillock of rubble and join me in a relatively clear space up the street from where the rest of the group was working to clear the road.

Wonder of wonders, we found an old bus stop bench that was clear of any garbage. It was in front of the remains of the Tres Hermana’s Mexican Restaurant, which still had an intact doorway. The big window, however, was demolished, and tiny shards of glass sparkled on the sidewalk.

Making sure there was no glass on the bench, we sat down. “I hate this place,” Mae sighed.

“I hate what it is now,” I agreed. My nose itched under my mask, and I fought off the impulse to lift it off and scratch. After wrinkling and twitching a few times, to no avail, I leaned back in my seat and looked up at the sky.

It was an odd sight: looking skyward, the buildings appeared whole and untouched by the ruin on the ground. Some even had intact windows; I could see the glint of sun on the glass. “Wow,” I breathed.

Mae leaned back, too, and together we stared at the shifting clouds above us. “You can’t even tell from here,” Mae whispered. “It all looks…normal. What was it like, Penny? Do you remember?”

“I don’t know if I was ever here,” I admitted. “Nothing looks familiar. But, why would it?”

“I remember a Christmas parade and lighting the lights,” Mae said. “But that wasn’t here. Was it?”

“I don’t think so,” I replied. “We rode the train to that. The train station is farther northwest.” I didn’t add that I couldn’t remember if we’d gotten a bus from the train depot and come farther downtown from there. It didn’t really matter. There would be no more parades and no more Christmas tree lightings.

“I don’t get it,” Mae said. “Daddy said there were bombs. Don’t bombs come from planes?”

I shrugged, indifferent. “I guess.”

“Then why aren’t the windows broken up there? Everything down here is a mess.”

I don’t claim any expertise about bombs, but I speculated that they didn’t detonate until they hit the ground. That made no sense, either, though. If a bomb was dropped from directly above us, everything down here would be gone. Obliterated. Dust.

Many parts of the city were exactly that: obliterated. Nothing left at all except piles of concrete and glass and decomposing bodies. We’ve never even tried to get into places like that; it would be useless.

Finally, I said, “I suppose it was like an earthquake, and the impact tremors spread out.” I wished she hadn’t brought it up; my mind began concocting all sorts of scenarios.

“Maybe the bombs didn’t come from the air.”

I stared at the sky. Mae stared, too. “No,” she whispered. “I can see it.”

“What?” I saw clouds, which were beginning to move faster and were turning grey as we watched.

“The plane.”

I turned my head and stared at my sister. Her eyes were wide and shocked. “What is it, Mae?”

“I can see it, Penny. I know it’s not there, but I can see it anyway. It’s a big, silver plane, full of regular people just trying to get away.”

I looked up again. I could see it, too. Grandpa said people would try to escape the city by air. After it was over, we didn’t see planes in the sky anymore. No one believes anyone got away; if they had, where were they? Wouldn’t someone have come back by now?

We stared. The plane was there. Sunlight glinted off the bottom, and it appeared to be glowing. It hovered.

It wasn’t there, of course. Planes never hovered. A helicopter, sure, but not planes. I blinked hard and felt tears escape the outer corners of my eyes, rolling toward my ears but halted by my mask.

No plane. Just sky, now mostly grey clouds with a hint of blue beyond them.

Rain would be a bitch. I sat up, distressed.

Mae heaved a shaky sigh and sat up, too. Then she stood, turned and faced the broken window of the restaurant and squared her shoulders determinedly. “We might as well go see what we can find,” she said.

“Penny!”

I turned and saw Sid and Ash coming toward us, pulling wagons. “Are we hauling, then?” I asked.

“There’s a huge hole under all that crap,” Ash explained. “Mort says they’re not driving through.”

They lined the four wagons up behind the bus stop bench and we climbed through the window to search. All around us, other teams were moving on foot down the street and into other businesses, some with wagons, most with backpacks.

As we moved farther into the restaurant, Mae begged, “Please, God, no people. No bodies.”

“Amen,” Ash added.

God didn’t listen. In my experience, He never has.

We found plenty of bodies that day.

We also found plenty to salvage: cooking supplies, cutlery, dishes. Canned goods, too.

It doesn’t matter. Mae has had enough of the city, and I doubt she’ll ever come back. If she doesn’t, neither will Ash. They will stay in camp and keep things in order; there’s more than enough to do.

Like I said: I don’t blame them.

Today we found more bodies than salvage items, and as Sid lights the funeral pyre, I wonder how much longer I will be able to handle coming myself. How many more times can I sift through the end of things that once were?

“God grant you peace,” Grandpa says, his head bowed.

Sid and I turn away from the fire and start walking away. He takes my hand and squeezes.

I think about saying a prayer for the babe kicking in my belly, and decide not to bother.

God doesn’t listen.

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***A side note: Penny and her sisters are first seen in my novella, starting in the Middle of the End.  Somehow, that broken world stays in my mind, and I keep coming back to it.

Please visit Paula on her blog: https://paulashablo.wordpress.com/

Katrina Humphries: The Journey

Welcome to Write the Story! Each month Writers Unite! will offer a writing prompt for writers to create a story from and share with everyone. WU! wants to help our members and followers to generate more traffic to their platforms.  Please check out the authors’ blogs, websites, Facebook pages and show them support. We would love to hear your thoughts about the stories and appreciate your support! 

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The Journey

By Katrina Humphries

Daisy awoke at the first light of day, hours earlier than she needed to. A mix of anxiousness and excitement made sleep elusive. Stretching out, touching the early morning light streaming through the slightest gap in her curtains, she couldn’t help but dream about the day ahead. How would it go? Would he like her? What if he didn’t? Shaking that last thought from her mind she climbed out of bed, a warm shower was what she needed now.

Turning on the shower and allowing it to run, Daisy looked at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. The dark circles under her eyes would hint to the world, and to him, the sleepless night she’d just experienced. Nerves had certainly gotten the better of her; hopefully, a shower and some makeup would conceal them and hide her nerves. Climbing into the shower her thoughts returned to him. What was he like? What if she didn’t like him? Worse still, what if he rejected her? She didn’t think she could cope with that, having suffered rejection her whole life. But she’d done it now, she’d thought about it so long, and now she couldn’t put it off any longer. No, today was the day…today she would get the answers to a lifetime of questions. Relief at this thought quashed a little of the nerves.

Having finished her shower, Daisy decided some food would be a good idea. She had no appetite but knew she should force something down, maybe it would help with the sick feeling building in the pit of her stomach. It didn’t, only made it worse. Sighing to herself, she came to the conclusion that nothing would help, except just getting it over with. Not much longer to wait now.

Getting dressed, the anxiousness began to build up, no longer coming in waves, more constant now. Daisy felt like crying but managed to push the tears away. She didn’t want red eyes to go along with the dark circles, that would give away far too much. She wasn’t ready for that. Waiting for the taxi to arrive felt like an eternity. With each passing second the temptation of turning her back on this stupid idea grew stronger. She knew she had to fight this temptation. If she didn’t, she would never get the peace she dreamed of, the answers she truly needed.

As the taxi pulled away she watched her house, her safe space, grow smaller and the knot in her stomach grow bigger. The bit of excitement she had left diminished completely. What was she doing? Taken leave of her senses, she believed. She watched all her childhood spaces pass by, feeling, not for the first time, the loneliness she had felt growing up. She hadn’t been wanted, her mum had let her know that many a time. There had been no siblings to share that feeling with, there had been no one. No family and no real friends; she couldn’t wait to leave this life behind.

Finally, on the plane, Daisy felt relieved she had made it this far. A few hours and she would have what she needed. Watching the world pass under her gave her a strange sense of calm, and sleep finally took over, only waking on landing. Stepping off the plane she was hit by the warmth of the early afternoon sun, a warmth she hoped would stay with her in all aspects of this new life. She hoped with all hope that, here, she would be accepted, here, would be where she finally found a place to belong.

She decided to skip heading to her new apartment, knowing full well once she was within those four walls she would likely not leave and confront her main reason for being here. Him. Instead, she waved down a black cab, loading her lifetime of belongings inside, and gave the driver the address of the long-awaited destination. It was such a beautiful place she noticed as they were driving through the streets. Romantic looking, just as she had expected it to look. There were old buildings all around, worn with the process of time, mostly white with fancy black railings guarding them. They made her imagine her own feelings, secured away in fancy black railings. Would she ever be able to set those railings free, she wondered.

Daisy’s thoughts were interrupted by the driver.

“Almost there,” his voice boomed joyfully.

Daisy was filled with a full range of emotions. She felt they were almost as loud as the driver’s voice and was surprised that he could not hear them. Looking out of the window she realised they had turned into the street. The houses here were no different to the many she had seen on the way. Romantic, white and worn, with the same fancy black railings guarding the inhabitants, keeping them safe from harm. Oh, how she longed for that feeling. Would she ever feel that way?

Paying the driver, and unloading her lifetime of belongings, her whole body had turned to jelly. She felt like she could possibly just melt into a puddle, right here outside his house, just as jelly would do in the heat. Taking a deep breath, trying to make herself braver and taller, she walked up the path and knocked the knocker. She wondered if it would imitate her heart, thumping and beating so loudly, around the rooms of the house. It didn’t take long for him to answer, but took much longer for her to speak.

“My name is Daisy, I was born in 1999 to a May James.” It was the line Daisy had rehearsed over and over until it had imprinted into her mind. “I am your daughter.”

He stood, stock still, all colour from his face draining away before her very eyes. It seemed a long moment, almost felt as long as her journey here, before he made a move toward her. He wrapped Daisy in a loving embrace, where she felt a warmth similar to that she had felt getting off the plane, a warmth that made her realise she was home and accepted.

“I had no idea you existed,” he informed her. “She told me motherhood wasn’t for her, and heartbroken, I walked away.”

Now Daisy knew the truth of her absent father and knew she had found the place she would always belong.

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Please visit Katrina on Facebook.

Kenneth Lawson: The Last Flight to Freedom

Welcome to Write the Story! Each month Writers Unite! will offer a writing prompt for writers to create a story from and share with everyone. WU! wants to help our members and followers to generate more traffic to their platforms.  Please check out the authors’ blogs, websites, Facebook pages and show them support. We would love to hear your thoughts about the stories and appreciate your support! 

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Please note: the images used as prompts are free-use images and do not require

The Last Flight to Freedom 

By Kenneth Lawson

The sound of an airplane woke him up from his reprieve. 

The low rumble of the machine above him seemed to echo off the sides of the tall buildings he was hiding in between. He knew he couldn’t stay hidden forever, but he had been putting off moving until the sound of the engines reminded him of the urgency of his mission. Ducking under cover of an awning, he hoped he avoided being seen by sensors he knew they were using as the plane made another pass.

A few minutes later the plane changed its flight path, searching closer to his location. Time to move. He shifted his equipment and found a door and slid into the abandoned building. The marble floors and halls echoed of another time and place. The sound of his boots stepping on the stone floor echoed in the large lobby. It took a second for him to realize he was hearing his own footsteps and calm down enough to relax for a few minutes.

By the time he reached the stairs, his breathing was normal, but he knew the climb to the roof was going to be long and hard. He needed a tall building to make his stand, and this one was as good as any structure in the city. A stand to save what’s left of the country.

The long climb up many levels of stairs gave him ample time to review how the city and maybe the country had gotten to a situation such as this.

The truth of the matter was he wasn’t sure exactly what had happened.

Somewhere along the line, good intentions became personal intentions, and what was right for the world became what was right for the few, a very specific few. People charged with cleaning up the pollution and preserving what little resources the world had left became power-hungry. They embarked on a personal mission to acquire as much as they could with no regard for the people or countries they destroyed.

He had become an “outlaw” because he spoke out and tried to warn people about what was happening long before it became apparent. Now he was fighting to save them all.

His mission, at first, was to publish classified reports with disregard for their authority and flagrantly make them look bad in spite of their propaganda and the tales they sold to the peoples of the world. He had become a minor annoyance at first, then a thorn in their sides.

When the apocalypse came as he had predicted that it would, he was deemed people’s hero. He organized the resistance and found ways to get much-needed supplies and equipment to places where it was needed. No one had money but it didn’t matter, there was nothing to buy. They reverted to the barter system, and over several years they worked it out among themselves, learning to survive. However, not without bloodshed and death but eventually, the divisions were healed and they came together to fight a common enemy. 

Meanwhile, the climate systems began to completely degrade and now the air was barely breathable most days, and through the polluted haze, the sun baked everything in its path. 

As the resistance grew, what passed as a government insulated themselves in their own little world within domes in sections of the county that they didn’t destroy and kept all the resources remaining to themselves. They kept a full-fledged rebellion in check with bombing runs on resistance strongholds. 

But the government’s resources were dwindling, they had the ability to farm but they were running out of refined fuel and were scurrying to bring the refineries in their territory online. The aircraft and fuel tanks were not protected by domes and the latest resistance raids successfully destroyed the aircraft and blew up the fuel tanks. Resistance spies later learned there was one plane left but had yet to learn of its location. 

This was the last plane they could fly and harrassed the resistance members. 

It was time.

It was past time.

The plane had to go.

The problem was he didn’t have a weapon to take down a plane in mid-air. Until now.

A search team looking for resources found it in a hangar on an old military base, still in its crate. Its ammo stored nearby, they now had a shoulder-launched, anti-aircraft, surface-to-air missile. No one had seen or used one for many years and they looked to him, their leader, to figure out how to operate it. A movie buff in his young years, he remembered an old war movie that used such a weapon. Hoping he had a clue how to use it, the resistance put a plan in place. 

He had to be the target. So with communication equipment that they managed to get operational, he sent message after message to the government taunting them. Telling them he would take out their last plane. His last words were Come and get me. I’ll be in old New York City waiting for you.

So it was on this day word came that a plane was headed for the city. 

He reached the roof of the abandoned skyscraper and uncrated the missile launcher.

Everything hinged on him.

He had one shot.

He didn’t have long to wait. He heard the low roar of an airplane. An old commercial jet if he remembered correctly. It was on a direct path toward him.

He stood braced against the strong winds and doubled checked the controls. Aiming to take the wind into consideration, he took a deep breath and held it as the plane rapidly approached. He caught movement, a hatch underneath the plane opening. They were prepared to fire on him. A calmness settled over him. He was not going to let that happen.

He fired.

A loud noise erupted as the missile streaked from the weapon, louder than he imagined it would sound. He watched as the missile arced toward the plane. On impact, the plane exploded, the red-orange glow blinding in the hazy sunlight. 

The remnants of the plane fell from the sky, crashing into the ground in the city canyons. The building he stood on swayed slightly as the echos of the crash reached him.

And the rebellion began.

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Please visit Kenneth on Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/kennethLawson/ and on his website: http://kennethlawson.weebly.com/