Every Wednesday Romero Wisoff-Fields posts a picture prompt challenging writers to create a 100-word story, poem, or whatever works for you. After posting your work on your blog, go back to her site and add your link on her Friday Fictioneers post. Place. Page.
Give it a shot. I prefer to stick to 100 words, but she doesn’t mind either way. Not everyone has the time to sit and write, revise, edit, revise, edit, etc. until getting it down to 100 and telling everything you want to tell.
While I’m not usually a fan of post-apocalyptic stories, that’s the direction I went. Comments at the end.
Four hungry, silent, blue eyes scanned from shadows.
“No,” Father whispered. “Think. Remember.”
“Good girl.” He took aim.
“I forget why.”
“Skin. Gray ones bad, all others good.”
Small hands mimicked a rifle.
“Hafta get them before they get us. Quiet now. They’re dangerous.”
“They’ll hurt us?” she squeaked.
“Yes.” He aimed, fired. A lighter skin fell. “Stay here.”
Tiny hands held mother’s torn picture, then hid it as Father returned, weakly, slowly.
“Here, Sweetie.” Handing her a leg. “Please eat. We need strength.”
Tears. “It’s still bleeding.”
Four hungry, silent, gray skins crept from shadows.
I’m not a fan of zombies, but hopefully you understood that “gray skins” were zombies. Originally, the father and child were hunting big cats, as if animals had taken over and people were in hiding, but I realized it was not easy to establish that. However, I think it’s easier to pick up on zombies. As for what the father shot, and what they were about to eat, well, that’s part of the apocalypse.