I am quite proud of the fact that I lasted One month and Two days staying away from this blog; and from ANY writing of a fictional nature. Hell, I was surprised at how easy it was to NOT think of stories!
But last night, as I was unable to get any sleep I took a walk along the beach and this ‘Flash Fiction came to me. It still needs work, and a lot of tidying up but as is it reads okay and It is a complete story.
Flash Fiction, for those who don’t know is fiction within the 100 to 1000 word range and ‘Dreams‘ weighs in at respectable 520 words.
Dreams from before
The soft sound of my sand-shoe’s as I walk the streets at night. It’s the middle of winter now, cool but not yet biting cold. They called me crazy for walking the night, it isn’t safe they said, infected can still get through the barrier I was told time and again. I knew better. I can’t explain how I knew, I just knew.
I always found it calming to walk through the dark of the night, the rhythmic swoosh of the waves on the beach, the distant din of the Cyclops tower. All of it, it helped drive the nightmares away.
I was barely Ten years old when The End happened. That’s a stupid name for what was essentially our extinction. Some called it a virus, some a plague, the fanatics called it the wrath of a vengeful god. I call it a nightmare. I’m all alone now, like a lot of other kids at the time, I lost my my entire family to the plague. If I wanted to be honest, and in a dream who wants to be honest, I was the one who killed my parents.
Dad had come home from work early, claimed to not be feeling really well, and looking like Satan’s asshole after chilli night. It was a Saturday, the 15th of August. I remember it well because it was the last time I ever mowed a lawn. Actually I don’t remember anyone mowing a lawn after The End, running power tools drew their attention. About an hour later there was a crash as my parents fell through the French patio doors, Dad ripping mums flesh from her neck with his teeth.
I don’t know what it was that came over me, I remember stories of mothers gaining incredible strength to lift a car of their child, all I recall is seeing the mower, still running swinging towards my father. I held the blades on his face until his body had stopped writhing and flapping about. It was too late for Mum, she’d died with the sight of her husband; the man she loved and the father of her children ripping out her throat, black blood-shot animal eyes in place of the hazel-green eyes she loved.
I have survived for nearly a decade on my own. There is a group, living near the water, that I sometimes trade with but in the main they leave me alone and I leave them to their misguided attempts at rebuilding.
The smell of the freshly fallen rain, as it soaks into the bone dry earth intrudes it’s wet, invigorating scent into my dreams. I open my eyes. It is dark out but I can see as if it was midday. They’ve got patrols out, must be looking to extend the barrier again.
Damn, I don’t have time to get away without being seen. Oh well, I was getting a little hungry anyways. I’m able to trick one of them into leaving the rest, and the last thing he will see as I take his life essense will be my Black blood shot animal eyes.