Thursday Threads If They Stay, I stay

Innocence Lost

There are two types of people in the world.  Raiders. Survivors. If you don’t fit in either, you’re a Biter. This was Casey’s world now. Gone were the books, revision for exams. Now, she helped ration food and cook for the small community.

The camp was good. Crops grew. Biters were few. No Raiders for ten days now until throbbing engines could be heard in the distance. There wasn’t panic as everyone knew their role. As Casey ran to hide, counting the children in, her father came running up. He handed guns to Jack and AJ; boys  Casey’s age.

“We need you. You up for the job?” he asked. The boys nodded vigorously, itching for the opportunity to show they were now men, and get their hands on the guns.  

“What about me?” Casey asked.

“Go inside.”

“If they stay, I stay.”

“I don’t want you to see this Casey. I’ve got to protect you.”

Casey stood before her father, laying a hand on his rifle. “You can’t shield me from my responsibilities. This is my world now Dad. I gotta get used to it. I gotta start fighting for it. You’ve got to let me fight.”  She saw pain in his eyes as he loosened his grip on the rifle. “I’ll be fine, I promise.”

“I know,” he whispered as he watched his child run to the boundary, shedding her innocence with every step. “That’s what worries me.”

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written for Siobhan Muir's Thursday Threads over at The weird, the Wild and the Wicked

No Time For Tears Thursday Threads 102

Haven't written for Thursday Threads over at The Weird, the Wild and the Wicked by Siobhan Muir but with a new toy and still in the Christmas holidays, there is no excuse. Hope you like this little tale based on the prompt "No time for tears".

No Time For Tears

Jacob said there would be no time for tears. No time to mourn. No time to remember. But what else did we have if we didn’t have our memories? It was our memories that made us different to them. Them who ravaged everything with a pulse, my beloved Marley the latest victim of the insatiable need to feed.   

An uncontrollable shudder ran deep leaving my bones cold.

I needed to harden up in this new world; Jacob had said that too. And he was right. I wasn’t going to survive with my head full of cupcakes and fairy dust, even though a world filled with cupcakes and fairy dust brought miles of smiles.

I wanted to smile, remember, cry and mourn. I didn’t want to forget who I was just because the earth had turned topsy turvy; the dead now living, the living now dying slowly. Jacob called it survival. But what was survival if you forgot who you were and what made you human? What was the point if the death of a beloved pet didn’t mean anything?

I wasn’t sure this new world was worth surviving in if life was cheap and discarded so easily like yesterday’s newspaper.

The sun started bidding farewell. Darkness was our enemy along with apathy for our own soul it would appear, if Jacob was anything to go by.

I defied the darkness and defied Jacob as I gave way to my sorrow for Marley and made time for my tears.

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Thursday Threads It's Standard Procedure

Thursday Threads time hosted by Siobhan Muir over at The Weird, the Wild and the Wicked. This week's prompt is "It's standard procedure" which must appear somewhere in the story of between 100 and 250 words. After the high of last week's Honorable Mention for my Thursday-threads-not-even-once. tale, I have come back down to earth and written this piece. I hope you enjoy. xxx  

PS I was tempted to call this piece Guns and Roses but that name is already taken.  x

  

Scent of Life

Melissa eyed her weapon, slowly running her hand along its length; her delicate polished fingers at odds with the bulky, powerful semi automatic. Just because her job as a beautician was redundant, it didn't mean she had to stop taking care of herself, after all she was human. 

Her training over, Melissa hugged her weapon close as she ventured out into the darkness of the new world.

 A thick fog dressed the city like a sinister cloak, muffling the groans of the dying and the distinctive moans of the undead as they feasted. Her breathing was deep and quick, her finger firm on the trigger, her step confident as she whipped her head from left to right at the slightest movement; a rustle of paper, the clanking of a rolling bottle.

“Hey Barbie, you have enough perfume on tonight?” whispered Brad walking next to Melissa.“It’s getting right up my nose.” 

“Better the scent of flowers than rotting flesh” Melissa retorted just as one of their unit threw up; either from the putrid flesh or from the brutality of their situation. She handed Brad her precious bottle and he started spraying it liberally much to the consternation of the unit.

“Stop moaning. It’s standard procedure now” Brad quipped rather preferring the subtle fragrance of flowers to that of death that had permeated his nostrils since the apocalypse began six weeks ago. And flowers reminded him of a world where life lived free . . . . . . . . . and there was nothing wrong with that.

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