who is left at the end of the world?
who do we blame?
The apocalypse wasn't as bad as she thought.
Not much had changed from her old life. She had always hated the heat of the sun and the prickle it would leave, so waiting on the clouds and the quiet it brought felt right.
This evening was different, she noticed something on the horizon. The sight of it sent a chill down her spine. It was a piece of cloth. She mustered her courage, tore it from the pole and wrapped it around her body.
Engulfed in the red white and blue fabric, she prayed for another cloudy day.
About the Creator
M.A.L.
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Message Me Afterwards
>That was a bad idea. I thought you knew… >Oh, the pathos! I don’t really know you as well as I should. In fact, I may not know the real you at all. That essential, sparkling you that you only reveal to a select few. Had I been paying more attention to the stories you are so fond of telling, in which you are invariably author, narrator and protagonist, I would not have been so foolish as to set you up on a blind date. After all, no friend has ever done anything of the kind for another. That’s preposterous. What is a friend, really?
By D. J. Reddall5 days ago in Fiction
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