A hand reaches down, grabs a handful and throws it into my open mouth.
Cold. A crunchy, nearly sticky feeling. A taste like iron. Like blood.
The taste of snow is mostly the food residue and slime and bacteria and dead cells on your tongue.
I can still see every moment of that day. Play. Rewind. Slow motion. It’s all there, a movie, locked in my head for the rest of my life.
It snowed today. When I saw the first snowflakes, this morning, sitting in my car, I felt a shiver. Since then the tape keeps playing. Keeps rewinding. Keeps playing. Continue reading
A young lady pulled him aside. “What?” he asked. With swift fingers the blonde wiped a cotton cloth along his forehead. “It will smear the makeup,” she said. He glanced at his watch. “There are more important things now,” he said. The lady pulled his shirt straight, then he managed to escape her grip. He stepped into the small room, took a quick glance at the flag and sat down in front of it. He nodded. The man behind the camera held up three fingers. Then two. Then one. A red light. “My fellow citizens,” he said. “Today is a day this nation – even this world – will never forget.” He swallowed. The sweat was running down his forehead. “From this minute on our nation is at war.”
A big smile on his lips. Nice words here and there. Everybody liked the happiest man in the world. The happiest man in the world met a friend in the elevator. “All perfect?” he asked. “Sure,” said the friend. “And you?” “Oh,” said the happiest man in the world. “You know me, I’m always happy!” The happiest man in the world greeted the cashier. She laughed about his joke and he laughed back. The happiest man in the world waved to a neighbor. The happiest man in the world closed the door. The happiest man in the world opened a bottle of beer. “It’s just us again,” he said. Then he drank. Then he cried.
Another entry for the /r/KeepWriting “Writer vs Writer” match.
Your character is the only person left in the world who practices his/her trade. After they’re gone, the trade/skill/job/profession will be no more.
The Last One
Wrinkly fingers brushed over the cold wood of the desk. He pulled the hand back to his face and blew the dust from the pale skin. His account was too empty for the repair; he would have to clean the apartment himself.
He sighed, sat straight and pressed the button. The camera and projector jumped to life. He moved the keyboard and controller each to their place.
A moment later the face appeared. Claire. A happy face with a tired expression.
“Good morning, Claire.”
“Hello, Mr. Zhang.”
“How are you today?” Continue reading
The scent woke me up. Gentle, warm, soft, arousing. Almond. Almond and something else, a fruit or a flower.
A glimmer of light came from under the door.
I was nervous, then confused. Somebody was in my apartment, but why that smell? Why such an erotic scent?
Quietly I pulled the jeans over my stiff legs. The scent was slowly fading away. I picked the broom from behind my wardrobe and tiptoed to the door. The door handle moved without a noise. The door opened, I stepped outside. The corridor was dark, only a glimmer of light came from the kitchen.
I slowly moved there and froze.
A woman. A thick but translucent white. Her eyes on the empty space in front of me. Screaming without a sound. A black hole opened in her stomach. Her face slowly deformed. She fell. The moment her body touched the ground she was gone. Continue reading