So, in my archive digging I found this document of old 100 word drabbles I wrote. Haven't even looked at these since 2009/10?
Mommy said not to let them see me if they came; she told me to hide in the closet and not to come out no matter what. She left me here, then I heard daddy yell, and a loud noise.
They kept yelling about things, but I don’t know what they’re saying. I heard mommy yell something about daddy, then another loud noise. I haven’t heard mommy since. I can hear people walking around now, they sound like they’re angry. Why aren’t they leaving?
I left Teddy in my room, I’m scared, I want my mommy and daddy.
I sat at the bar, listening to the man at the piano tickle the keys. It was a fast number, something to tap my toe to, even with my foul mood. The old barman finally stopped by me, “What can I get for you, son?”
The geezer nodded, “Y’look like it’s been a rough day.”
I nodded, remember what had been discussed in Parliament that morning, “You don’t know the half of it.”
“It’ll blow over, kid.”
“I don’t think it will this time.”
“It may seem like that now, but it’ll be fine. What’s the problem?”
My wedding was the day it all started, my honeymoon was spent running. I still remember it; we exchanged our vows just as the first shells fell. We left the reception to find criers screaming of the end days and the war to end all wars.
We didn’t believe them at first, how naive we were. My husband and I left on our honeymoon, only to be forced to flee because of the unstoppable invasion.
Now we fight against them with the tenacity of a bear. I only hope that we can keep them at bay long enough for help.
“You think I don’t fucking know that?” The man screamed at me. “I’ve got three others to get to first, I’m sorry, if she dies, she dies.”
I was stunned, how could a medic not care? Wasn’t that the point?
I turned back to the woman, writhing in pain on the cot; her abdomen had been sliced open by shrapnel, her leg riddled with holes.
I had to do something to help her, even without proper medical training I knew the bullets had to come out.
I squatted next to her and drew my knife. “This may hurt a little.”
The beast stomped down the decimated streets. The armor that encased its body made it even more imposing than before, only its snarling face was exposed. It gnashed its teeth as it searched for its pray, letting its most primal urges drive it.
Even the soldiers that accompanied it were terrified, they called it a demon.
The Hunter stopped, its inhuman senses telling it that prey was nearby. It grunted once, nodded to the soldiers and ran ahead.
It would be given another chance to subside the hunger that never went away. It would be able to feel, to kill.
One, two, three, the soft, wet sounds of something hitting the ground. Slowly it started to pick up, now dozens of soft splats. A small girl jumped back as one of the falling black masses landed in front of her.
It was a blackbird. Her mother took her hand, pulling the child back to the safety of the house. She cried as she did, knowing that it wouldn’t matter, she knew why the birds were dying.
Silently she cursed the gods and the fates, but mostly the soldiers who were on the outskirts of town.
Slowly the gas was descended.
The nightmares came again. This time they involved fire, always fire. The heat against his skin, the light blinding him, feeling the water in his body heat up, expand under his skin. He screamed as it consumed him, burning away his hair, skin, muscle and tendon, leaving nothing but a blackened skeleton.
He awoke with that same scream tearing from his throat, and it only intensified as he saw world around him. The fire was real, it was everywhere.
Over the roar of the flames around him he could hear explosions and gunfire. He only cried as the end came.
He was cute, she had to admit. He had come in with a few fractures in his leg, training apparently. Each time she came to check on him or give him his medication he flirted with her. She enjoyed the attention and couldn’t help but return the looks and words.
During one of their conversations he explained that he was shipping out soon. There was a war brewing in the east, hopefully his unit would be able to stop it before it got out of hand.
She smiled and kissed him, telling him he needed to come back to her.
At first he thought the low buzz was coming from one of the children’s toys. He looked around, asking them to please stop. It only grew louder as the minutes passed, then it hit him; he looked out the window of the classroom to find a swarm of black dots in the sky and the city below them filled with smoke and flame.
Without thinking he herded the children out of the room, steering them to the shelter in the school.
Now the sirens came, the sirens that signified all of their worst fears. Death was coming for them all.
It took all of my willpower not to laugh when he walked through the door. He told me he was psychic, that he’d predicted his own death.
I took out a cigar and bit the tip off, lighting it. “Alright, so you think you’re gonna be killed. Well, I’ll see what I can dig up. In the meantime, just try to be careful.
He gave a sigh of relief, “Thank you. Keep me posted.”
I laughed. He stopped at the door, “What?”
I smiled and leveled my revolver at him, “I think I solved it.”
Slowly, I pulled the trigger.
My hand shot out, grabbing her collar as she ran into the road. The car flew by, narrowly missing her. I spun her around, screaming, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Tears ran down her face, “I’m fucking tired of it! It doesn’t fucking matter anymore! We’re all going to die anyway.”
Then, I did something I’d never done before; I kissed her. “We aren’t going to die.”
“They’re coming for us.” She was crying now, face pressed into my chest.
I held her, “I know, but we’ll be okay, I promise.”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
I lay on the floor, face down, unable to see if there was still a gun pointed at the back of my head. From behind me I heard one of them scream, “Just put the money in the fucking bag!” Then a loud crack and the sound of something heavy hitting the floor.
He just shot the teller, why? Why would they be doing any of it? There’s a war going on, the threat of being blow out of existence every day and they still think they need money?
My anger and disgust rose and I stopped thinking, I charged.
“We need backup in Cell Block F! Dean and Jackson are down!” I stood in the observation tower, rifle scanning for anyone I could get a clean shot at. They heard about the war, knew that it was only a matter of time, so they tried to break out.
This wasn’t a riot anymore, this wasn’t a prison break, this was a blood bath. I’d already shot at least a dozen inmates, and they’d killed far more of my men.
Where did they think they would be able to escape to? I felt the rifle ram and cursed the gods.
The loud crashing sounds repeated again and again. One after the other the artillery shells stopped in front of me and I capped them. My fingers bled from the work, my sweat and blood mixing into each of piece of ammunition, adding a little of me to each one. A little of myself to each of these things that would take so many lives. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, that I would be killing people, at least indirectly.
“Hurry it up Fitzgerald!”
I turned back to my work as a cog in the machine of death.