Thread: 04/14/08 - The “Apocalypse�

After much deliberation, consultation and collaboration with our very own Mr. Chris Miller, it has been decided that you will be given the challenge of writing a story on the following topic:

The "Apocalypse."
This is how the world ends. And by "world" I mean... well… let's leave it open: the universe; civilization; humanity; you? It's up to you to decide what "end" means as well.
No more than 500 words (not counting the title).

Submissions may only be posted in this thread or in the thread provided in the Writers' Workshop (you must provide a link to your submission in this thread if you opt to use the Writers' Workshop). Everyone is welcome to participate. Note: Judges may participate, but their entries will not be scored.

Submissions will be accepted until April 28th (2 weeks)
Judging period: May 3rd - May 9th
Results will be posted on or before May 10th

(Judging period changed due to WF downtime)

Good luck to everyone!

Your judges for this round are:
Chris Miller
Sam Winchester
Non Serviam
Hawke

The Sixth Chapter

Detective John Samson handed a large plastic bag containing an old book to the university museum’s Head of Antiquities to examine. “It’s evidence in an investigation.”

“It appears to be Mayan. May I take it out of the bag?”

“I suppose. I don’t think we will be checking it for fingerprints, the surface is too rough.”

“It’s written on old leather – I wonder. Huh. Could even be human skin, knowing the early Maya. Latin characters, so it’s post Spanish conquest. Looks like mid 1500's.” His arthritic hands carefully opened the leather pages. “Where did you find it?”

“Next to a dead guy. Suicide, we think, but we wanted to find out what gives with the book. Is it valuable?”

“Imagine if you found the first Bible ever written. This finding is nearly that important.”

“Geez. No kidding?”

“It’s an early – possibly the original– copy of the Popol Vuh, the Maya’s creation myth. I can’t believe I’m actually holding this. Oh my God! This manuscript has the ‘Sixth Chapter!’ All later copies I’ve seen end at chapter five. The Conquistadors wrote in their journals of a sixth chapter. ‘Los Días Del Destino.’ the ‘Days of Doom’ they called it. ”

“Geez. No kidding?”

“Dead serious – at least the ancient Maya thought so. This chapter is rumored to describe the end of days, in graphic detail.”

The policeman handed the scholar a piece of paper in another plastic bag. “He left a note. Read this one through the bag, Prof, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure.” He took the plastic bag and smoothed its surface to read the writing on the page inside.

“Los Días Del Destino

The legendary Sixth Chapter of the Popol Vuh exists. But now I wish I never read it when I imagine the horrors that await us.”

“Could reading this make someone kill themselves, Prof?”

The old man shrugged his shoulders. “The Maya played soccer with human heads. I’d listen, if they said something awful is coming.”

“Geez.”

“‘Dogs will snarl, Jaguars will flee to caves and the ground will tremble.’ – Chap Six.

It must be a comet strike. When Comet Shoemaker-Levy struck Jupiter, the comet shattered from the gravitational attraction pulling the comet in too many directions. That would cause the earth tremors they are describing as it rips the comet apart prior to the strike.

‘Shards of obsidian will cut through man, animal, and stone then vanish.’ – Chap Six.

Dirty black Ice. This must be describing fractured shards of comet. My God, cut through stone! But it could! It will! comets travel at over 800,000 miles an hour!”

“Could this really happen?”

“It has before. Logic dictates it will again. Mayans accurately predicted eclipses, and the year when the sun will cross the equator of our galaxy and they did this hundreds of years ago.”

“So suicide was a possibility for his death?”

The Professor carefully slipped the book back into the plastic bag. “It may be our best option.”

Hello. I've just joined so I hope I can enter. =]

The Dollhouse

The world was shaking. Dilapidated walls quaked, the dust covering the room like a swarm of flies. The tiny particles entered her eyes, her nose, and the woman swatted the dust away.

A tower crashed outside her home. The great sound of falling bricks on concrete was deafening. Screams – the screams shook her bones. Fire crackled outside the house, she could not see the flames but she could hear them – and smell them.

Smoke, burning flesh and hair, it seemed to go so well in this situation.

A tiny doll with flaxen hair danced upon the floor in time with the shakes of the earth. Its blue eyes stared lifelessly at Veronica. She shivered and looked away – best not be reminded of that.

On three it will all be over. This horror will be over. One. Two. Three. The screams did not fall short. The flames did not cease to cackle. Veronica went to her feet and abandoned her wooden rocking chair. That doll, it was watching her. Never talking, not anymore.

Veronica tightened her brow and looked back at the doll. She inhaled sharply and backed away from it.

“I thought you said we weren’t talking anymore?”

The doll suddenly appeared very mocking with her tiny button, blue eyes small and beady. The drawn yellow brows pointed downward and the mouth distorted into a scowl.

“Don’t remind me, dolly.”

The doll stared with those blue eyes.

“Dolly,” she cooed. “Sweet dolly, I told them, didn’t I? You know I did.”

Thread that resembled a mouth down turned.

“I shouldn’t be blamed for this! They know what was to happen when they left the establishment.”

Dolly did not respond.

“No answer, dolly?” Veronica said. “Don’t mock me! You know I’m right. They should have listened! I said to them, ‘Don’t leave. Don’t be fools. If you leave I will suffer the end of our world!

The earth shook again. The flames became louder. More screams. Make it all stop. One. Two. Three. The doll seemed just as mocking as before.

“I hate you, do you know that Dolly? You know I hate you. I hate you for being the only one left with me. I’m left to suffer in this apocalypse! I hate you Dolly, for being with me in this house. Why don’t you save yourself Dolly? Leave your dollhouse!”

Another deafening rumble, Veronica flew to her feet. The roof of the house was unhinged. It flew towards the sky, leaving a whirlwind of dust and smoke. She held her breath and looked up, blinded by the light. As the brightness of the light died, Veronica was able to see a small girl peering at her.

Veronica’s heart stopped in her chest.

Small hands came from the sky and into her modest house. They were like the hands of God – threatening, mysterious and inevitable. Veronica was lifted in the sky, watching the house disappear from view.

Early, I know. But I did my taxes in January. I'm just that kind of guy. This is exactly 500 words. Shortest thing I've ever written, and it was bitch.

Joyride

“Pass me another beer, will ya?” Bobby said, as he eased back into his seat and turned up the radio.

“Yes sir, asshole, right away, sir,” Willis said. “You know, you ain’t in the army no more.”

“Yeah, I guess I fucked that up good. My one chance to really do something. Somethin’ important.”

“It ain’t too late, Bobby. I thought you was going to technical school."

“Can’t now. Donna’s pregnant. Guess I’ll be workin’ at that fuckin' plant the rest of my sorry-ass life.”

“Shit. What are you gonna do?”

“Marry her, I guess."

“You could do worse. Where you gonna live?”

“My mamma’s, for now.”

“You hungry?” Willis asked.

“Nope. But there’s jerky in that side pocket, if you want it.”

Bobby adjusted his cap and lit a cigarette. He felt the weight of failure and uncertainty pressing on his chest. Fear brought out the worst in him.

“Where are we going, Bobby?”

“Surprise.”

“I don’t like surprises.”

“You’re a pussy, you know that, Willis?”

“Fuck you.”

“So what do you think of the ride?”

“I gotta admit, you done a nice job. Damn nice.”

“Well, I done something special with it," Bobby said. "Real special. You know what an AT-270 is?”

“I seen one in the movies, and TV and shit.”

“Well, I was trained to shoot one of them mutherfuckers.”

“Yeah?”

“What if I was to tell you that I got one of ’em mounted right up under where you’re sittin’?”

“What the fuck?” Willis said. “Under me? You’ll blow us both to hell and back.”

“Don’t sweat it. I know what I’m doing. I was trained.”

“Where’d you get it?”

“Stole it. Last day before my discharge.

“How?”

“If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

Bobby laughed as though he was the first to use the phrase.

“What are you gonna do with it?” Willis said.

“Blow shit up, moron! What else?”

"I don’t want no part of this,” Willis said. “I want to go home. This is the kind of bullshit that got you expelled from school, and got you discharged. When are you gonna learn?”

“I’ll take you home, pussy, but I’m blowing’ somethin’ up first. Somethin’ that don’t matter. You see that star over there?”

“Yeah, I see it.”

“Now look a little over to your left. You see that? The red one? I’ll bet you a case I can hit it from here.”

“The hell you can.” said Willis.

Bobby came to stop and aimed his ride and the AT-270 at his target. He pushed a button on the shifter with his thumb. Bobby and Willis shielded their eyes from a flash of white light and waited.

“Goddamn it, I missed!” Bobby said. “But holy shit, look at that!”

“You messed up that little blue fucker good!” Willis said. “But you owe me a case, dumbass.”

“Whatever,” Bobby said. Then he laughed and pulled a one-eighty, and they headed home, back to their own galaxy.

Daddy.

Adrianna convulsed and died.

He pulled back the bedsheets and regarded her final composure:
– Legs in awkward contortion, suddenly cold – an arm limp with its fingers stretched in accidental caress – eyes closed – a smile on her pale lips.

“Oh dear” he laughed, “oh no don’t die!” His laugh was a bark, pulling back the coffee-induced complexion of his cheeks and lighting up his eyes.

And then he grabbed at his throat, and suddenly all the air was gone from the room, and his heart screamed, and he collapsed in violent seizure – beside her, whispering empty last words.

“Daddy I’m only pretending” she poked him.

“I know we are darling”

And the world ended and he tucked her in and said goodnight.




Beep.
Beep buh-beep.

The cardboard coffee cup was cold and half empty, left on the bedside table. A noise somewhere between a rasp and a sigh. Someone somewhere nearby vomited, choked, wept, moaned, and died.




Adrianna clutched at her chest where the bullet had struck her and shattered her ribcage, rupturing her heart.
“Daddy you bastard!”

“Don’t swear”

“I’m dying daddy, and all you care about is me swearing!”

“Well have some dignity in death”

She collapsed, spilling her blood in a little pool at the toes she could no longer feel. She spat blood in vehemence; “You have not won. Not this time” her pretty smile became a scar of anger, and her eyes flashed with cruel triumph.

“You’re dead! What can you possibly do to me now?” But his over-confidence faded as it reach the tip of his tongue. It was unthinkable… how could he have been so foolish?

She had pulled the detonator out of her back pocket.
“Goodbye daddy”

And the whole world ended in fire. Their bodies were thrown against opposite walls, which shattered, tossing bricks skyward. The roof collapsed in relief, pouring tiles over their final encounter like countless unmarked tombstones. Evil lord daddy had been defeated.




Beep.
Beep buh-beep.
Beep.
His rasping sigh rattled down a plastic tube that ended in a metal cylinder and a machine. He was lain out in his bed perfectly, packaged in a white sheet, ready to be carted off to the morgue. His visitors had placed cut flowers at the foot of the bed, some tied to the rails, like the memorials on roadsides.

Beep buh-beep.
Beep.
Addy didn’t want mommy there, mommy never played in daddy’s games and mommy said they were silly and sometimes shouted at daddy because of them. And mommy was never as fun as daddy. And mommy was crying.

Beep buh-beep.
Beep.
Mommy was thinking it was fitting that he should be like this. Unreachable, silent, void. She wanted to talk to him, tell him she was scared, but his only response was that plastic breath.

Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.

“Mommy what’s going on? What’s going on? What are you doing? Stop it you’re hurting him, you’re hurting him! He’s only pretending mommy, stop being silly, he’s only pretending! Stop it. Stop it.”




And the world ended in things left unsaid, in knowing looks and differences. Quietly.

Every Man Wants To Write A Book

“You're an asshole,” Seth said, sliding an unopened pack of smokes across the table.

Mr Jazz slapped his hand over the pack and Seth flinched in spite of himself. Mr Jazz let a smile tug at the corner of his lips as he picked it up and opened it slowly. He pulled a card from the packet and dropped it on the table, then lit a smoke.

“No,” Mr Jazz finally replied, “but I been near enough one most of my life, and I know how they act.”

“You gonna explain this now?” Seth picked up the copy of Mr Jazz’s manuscript.

“You’ve read it; I’d say it was pretty self explanatory.” As he spoke, Mr Jazz grabbed the card back from the table and stared at it fixedly.

“Of course.” Seth opened the manuscript and read from it in a mocking tone. “’The Earth is degenerating… Bribery and corruption abound. Children no longer obey their parents, every man wants to write a book…the end of the world is fast approaching…*’ What are you trying to pull with this shit? Do you know the position you’ve put me in, you fekking jerk?”

“Why can’t you say 'fuck' like the rest of us?”

Seth slammed the manuscript on the table.

“Fuck you, I can’t sell this!”

“I didn’t expect you would.”

Seth seemed about to choke on incredulity.

“Every pack of these damn smokes has this card in it.” Mr Jazz held it up for Seth to see. “Keep promising they’re gonna change the shape of the pack, for my convenience… Do you think there’s a reason they haven’t yet?”

Seth slapped his forehead.

“’Cos the tobacco companies are somehow in on this conspiracy too, are they?”

“It aint a conspiracy, it’s historical fact; and the tobacco companies don’t know jack.”

“Do you honestly expect anyone to believe Heaven and Hell were destroyed in some grand battle, and now we’re all devils and angels living on earth? This doesn’t even work in a fictional context, you idiot!”

Mr Jazz raised his eyebrows.

“You didn’t read the end, then?”

“I could barely swallow the first half of this garbage, nothing - nothing - inspired me to go any further.”

Mr Jazz sighed, and looked past Seth to the window behind him.

“Don’t you wanna know why the coulour's fading from the sky? Why everything takes longer than normal? Why the bad guys keep winning?” He looked back at Seth. “The breakdown of society… It spells out impending doom in every way and I finally figured out why.”

“Oh, please… Do enlighten me.”

Mr Jazz regarded Seth briefly with disdain.

“It’s old age, Seth. Pure and simple. She’s dying, and there aint a fucking thing we can do about it anymore.” Mr Jazz stubbed out the cigarette with pointed finality. “We’re just cells fighting a losing battle in a demon that’s had her time.”

“I give up,” said Seth.

“We all will, soon enough.”

*The quote I have used there has both been attributed to originating from an Assyrian tablet circa 2800 BC, and graffiti on a wall in Pompeii. In its entirety, it reads "The Earth is degenerating today. Bribery and corruption abound. Children no longer obey their parents, every man wants to write a book, and it is evident that the end of the world is fast approaching".

Ooops. ... Just ignore this.

Nearly Paradise

They invited Bob to the opening ceremony. It was the least they could do. After all, he had spent his entire life protesting, raising his voice against the inevitable, insisting that they were heading towards an apocalypse. They invited him, and gave him a seat on the main platform.

They had paved the earth, every inch of it. They bulldozed the mountains to fill the valleys, made it all level, and paved it with grey stone. They joked that it would last a lifetime. Medical advances made death something you chose, like a wig or set of dentures. That's why they made the world flat. There were more people in cripple chariots than on legs.

The covered the earth with a canopy. They needed it. They had built on every inch of space. As people lived longer, so some got richer and demanded bigger and better homes. Some had three or four homes. Mind you, some of the poor got very poor, but because the earth was paved, they didn't have to sleep in the mud.

It stank. The air grew poisonous. That's what happens when you pave the earth, Bob tried to say. They laughed at him, and built canopies. The sky became an artificial one. It pumped the poison out, and the people kept on living, and buying new houses, and thanking the Lord that the earth was paved ... and flat.

The sea turned slimy as everything in it died. They built covers for the sea. This stopped the poison gas joining with the other toxic fumes and creating a bad smell. No one wanted to live forever with a bad smell. They chromed the covers, so it still looked shiny. Everyone was fooled. Well, everyone apart from Bob, who carried on screaming about an apocalypse.

They weren’t stupid. They knew nothing would grow once the earth was paved, so they built factories to make food. They told the people that the new food tasted better. They got actresses with white teeth and large mammary glands to endorse the food. The factories had chimneys that went all the way through the canopies and spat their waste into the atmosphere outside of the world.

At the ceremony, Bob sat next to the President of the World. The President smiled and told Bob that he’d been wrong; there would be no apocalypse. Bob shrugged and pointed out that the apocalypse would be slow, long and nasty. He also told the President that he knew about the mistake they had made. The president laughed and asked which mistake Bob was talking about. They had not made any mistakes.

Bob whispered something to the President, who slowly turned grey. In that moment, he looked very old, very tired and very defeated. How could they have forgotten that? They had covered all the bases. How could they have forgotten that?

Here is what Bob asked.

“What are you going to do with all the shit?”

Whimpers - 332 words

The world falls to ash around us. She hooks her pinky in mine.

When we went out for pizza that time- that first time- I tried to hold her hand. She pulled away and laughed to herself. Mortified, I shoved my hands into my pockets. She said she was sorry but her hands get sweaty easily, and she held her pinky outstretched. I slowly curled my little finger around hers and we walked the rest of way to her house in silence, dumb grins on our faces and a skip to our step that belonged to kids five years younger.

Her finger feels so heavy now.

The world falls to ash around us. Buildings crash to the ground that burns our feet, but for whatever reason we stand completely still in the middle of the road. Maybe it’s the same reason I can’t hear a single sound. I can see people screaming, I can see cars burst into flames. I know that there should be so many horrifying sounds but for the life of me all that fills my ears is the sound of her breathing.

Her breath is always permeated with the scent of peppermint. She chews gum like the French smoke. It makes her taste like Orbit White.

And to think I used to be a Trident man.

Suddenly we’re in school again. We steal kisses during passing time, and since we’ve been together I’ve been tardy to math class every day.

The world falls to ash around us. The solace of school-time smooching remains a memory. The question of if we would have made it to our one-year anniversary remains a mystery.

Her birthday present remains under my bed five miles away. I curse the morbid thought of how she’ll never turn seventeen.

She whispers my name, her voice quavering with the weight of the question mark at the end. I say that I don’t know.

I grab her hand and squeeze.

The world falls to ash around us.

They Never Saw the Sky
457 words

I’m a black man.

Trouble is, I’m not allowed to say so. Not in those words. They want me to call myself a richly pigmented human being. Not a man—a human being. They don’t call us men anymore.

Humans are born only born because they want us to be; they choose what characteristics they want us to have. We’ve become more a product now than anything. Race—or rather, the acknowledgment of race—has been abolished. Religion, too. They say we’d have caused our own extinction otherwise.

I think that’s why no one saw it coming—no one looks to the sky anymore. No one even goes outside anymore.

I only found out because my granddaddy told me stories of his younger days. The soil was rich and fruitful and a man could stand in the sun and not burn to death in seconds. He said he missed the trees the most.

I like to think I miss the trees too but I’ve never seen one.

After the sun sets in the evenings, the temperature plummets. It’s dangerous to go outside then too, but only because no one owns things like coats or mittens anymore. We don’t need them living indoors as we do.

But my granddaddy gave me his and I went outside for the first time in my life.

A wave of cold slapped me in the face and I cried out. Then I saw my breath floating into the air and my cry died in my throat. I watched the lazy vapor rise against the dark sky above and then I saw the stars. I nearly wept at the sight of them.

I went back out every night after that.

A few days later, I saw something else. At first, I mistook it for a star, but as days passed, I noticed that it kept getting closer.

Yesterday, when my curiosity had grown too great to ignore, I snuck into one of the libraries and spent hours pouring over old science books to find out. We knew so little back then, and yet, we knew so much…

I know what the thing in the sky is now. I also know that they know about it, too. They just didn’t tell anyone. They probably built their shelters to protect themselves, resigned to creating a new human population after it ended—after our lives, our world ended.

As I said, we’re just a product to them.

I’ve decided not to tell anyone either. They wouldn’t believe me, and even if they did, I don’t think they’d mind that death was on its way. That really says it all, doesn’t it? I don’t think they’d mind that death was on its way.

I know I don’t.

I would have made it longer but Im suppose to be doing my homework right now. 209 words

Her Perfect Shape

There she was descending from heaven like an angel. Her perfect shape twisted in midair for no apparent reason other than the descent was taking longer than expected. He quietly wondered why she didn’t just teleport to the bottom like so many others had in the past. Her eyes scanned the area and finally she noticed him staring at her. Thoughts ran through his mind at a million miles per hour and he started to feel guilty. Was it normal for these thought to be going through his head? Slowly her descent straight down shifted towards him. He gulped and then he blushed, though his pink skin hid it. She smiled, and then he smiled. The anticipation of her landing seemed to take an eternity for the two, but when she did, it was unlike anything either had ever experienced. A pleasant burning sensation shot through their body making them want to laugh in delight. Then a strange sound echoed around an empty chamber as the two and all those around them disappeared in the twinkling of an eye.
Somewhere in an alternate dimension a teenage pimply boy shouted in excitement. A new high score he thought as his thumbs moved skillfully across the Tetris pad.

http://www.writingforums.com/writers...ml#post1115088

Yep, with Tia and Lou and Chris, among others, posting without concern about future publication, this is arrogance, but I want to hope the monkeys will hit the right keys one day and I'll get published. So my monkeys and I are posting down there.

Like a Cookie

Sadie didn’t want to play outside with the girls. That was the first strange thing. She was an old dog, but on the weekends when Joe had custody of his daughters, she always roused her aching joints to half-run, half-hop painfully through the grass with them. The girls would try to pull Sadie’s stained, deflated ball from her clenched teeth, and the dog would growl joyfully in denial. But today she lay under the table in the kitchen, watching Joe as he patted out burger patties and tossed a salad that the girls wouldn’t touch. Joe looked at the old dog, worried, and wondered if her time was coming.

“Dad, Dad! Come here!”

Sarah’s voice was excited, triumphant. Joe ran his hamburger-gooey hands under water from the tap, and gave them a perfunctory wipe on the dishtowel hanging from the oven handle. He opened the screen door and stepped out onto the deck.

The girls waved from next to the shed. The side of the small structure was scored with chalk marks. The girls had been playing an old game – jumping as high as they could, a piece of chalk in hand to mark the apex of their jump on the shed’s wall. Each girl had her own spot. They didn’t compete against each other, they competed against their own personal best.

This afternoon’s marks were a good six inches higher than their previous records. The girls beamed at him with shared pride.

“That’s really great, girls!” he said with enthusiasm, but a spot of emotional hurt tore open inside. Had it been so long since they had played this game? Were they growing up so fast?

“I’m putting the burgers on!” he announced. “Go get washed!”

Joe tossed the burgers on the grill and the girls soon returned, chattering. Drawn by the smell of cooking beef, Sadie wandered out. She seemed to be moving easier, Joe noted with relief. He shook his head. Suddenly, he was feeling a bit light-headed.

“Dad, watch!”

Jane jumped, higher than ever before, ten feet into the air, and landed on the shed.

“How did you do that?” yelled Sarah.

From the top of the shed, Jane shrieked. She pointed to the field behind the house.

“Dad!” She cried. “The field is cracking!” Joe strode to the fence, but Sarah, ever competitive, raced him and jumped up to grab the top rail. Her hands missed the rail and she kept sailing up, up into the air, screaming.

“Sarah, come back!” yelled Jane, who was now floating a foot above the shed. She turned to her father and asked in a plaintive little voice that seemed very far away.

“Daddy, where did the gravity go?”

Joe wanted to respond, but he didn’t know how. He felt so lightheaded. His consciousness floated away as his body did.

A sizzling burger floated past Sadie’s head and she snapped it up, chewing happily as the Earth came apart.

Drink this Blood and Remember Me - 498 words

In a small farming town, there is no bread and butter. Instead, you eat corn and tomatoes, green beans and peppers. You might get enough eggs to make breakfast, and periodically a cow was slaughtered, but we mostly relied on the land.

We knew we were in trouble when the corn was made of blood. Instead of nurturing sweet, yellow kernels, the skins were barely restraining a tide of deep crimson. The stalks were green as ever, but instead of darker veins running through, streaks of red fed the growing plants.

Terror swept through our village when the corn was harvested; broken cobs gushed blood into the field, and soon the tractors’ wheels were soaked. Struck with horror, the drivers pulled to the road, jumped out and ran.

There aren’t many television around, so the whole community gathered around the grocer’s little box, bumping into each other. Housewives wringing their towels, men pulling on their hats, children clutching legs and hands. We don’t want to admit that we’re scared, but we are. This is our life, these acres and plots; we can’t live without them.

The news lady told us that the world is in crisis, and no one can understand what’s happening. Similar fields flash on the screen, and her voice said which one’s where. They’ve identified it as blood, but they don’t know what kind. “Scientists,” she said, “are baffled.”

“Seems to me,” someone grumbled, “they don’t know much ever.”

The world still had food though. It didn’t matter.

Then came the tomatoes, and from a distance, they looked fine. Collectively, we relaxed a bit, spoke of a freak accident with the corn. Bad seeds or something: that was the general agreement.

When picking morning came through, the kids rushed out first, eager to gather their treasures and exchange them for pie. Before returning them, one little girl took an eager bite out of hers, claiming the first produce of the season. The other kids watched in anticipation and excitement as she chewed; her working jaw seemed to take forever. When nothing but some leftover juice flowed from her smile, they all cheered and grabbed their own. It wasn’t pie, but it was fresh, and that counted for something.

None of them woke up the next morning. Some died, but most stayed in a coma, their bodies and faces stiller than those that were dead. People wept and shook the children and threatened fires in the vegetables, but nothing they did made it any different. Tomato juice, as it turns out, looks remarkably like blood.

More news: more blood, more ruined crops. No one anywhere did well, and they hadn’t figured out a cure for the sleeping either.

Time passed on, and it just got worse. We reckon we’ll run out of food eventually, and some have stopped feeding those sleeping kids. The land is dying, and she’ll take her with us, but she’ll do it slow; after all, it took years to get us here.

http://www.writingforums.com/writers...ml#post1116881

Just in case...