Warren saw the news alerts. Everyone did. Still, no family rang. No friends pinged his socials. No fleeing neighbors knocked.
He played PS4 until the grid failed. He ate jerky and G FUEL, rationing the battery on his silent phone.
Midday. The phone dead. Shuffling. Growling. An elderly scream quickly stifled. Sound of splintering bone.
Warren walked to his apartment's door. Unlocked it. Sat. Waited.
Creak of hinges. Staggering steps. Outside the window, fat flakes had started drifting down. A white Christmas after all.
As undead arms encircled his shoulders, tears welled in Warren's eyes.
Finally. Someone who wanted him.
Saturday, December 19, 2020
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10 comments:
Goodness. Poor Warren. He wasn't that bad a chap. Thanks, Loren.
Brilliant world creation in a few carefully chosen details. Great story. Thanks, Loren.
Phil,
Yeah, Warren had a hard go of it. Not a great way to go, methinks.
Paula,
You are too kind. Thank you.
Warren needed Lucille in his life. #obscurereference
Now I want to play Dead of Winter again.
Fantastic storytelling as usual, Loren!
(I am clueless, for I do not get it. Also, would like to play "Dead of Winter," but I struggle to find fellow gaming fiends.)
Quite creepy, not sure why, which is why I think it was very well done. Great job wirh 100 words.
A most toothsome tale.
Terrific stuff.
For a reason I don't understand, I particularly like "fat flakes"
I also find each time I read it I enjoy it more.
Thanks, Loren.
Michael: You're quite kind, sir.
Dave: Yes, "toothsome" in the unending-hunger-that-consumes-the-world sort of way.
Kel: Though I live in Florida now, I still remember times in Chicago when the snow would look that way, these plump flakes that would hit you almost with weight.
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