This short piece is actually part of a collaborative project that I worked on, though it lost steam. I was writing some flashbacks that fit into the overall narrative stream. The team got up through chapter 8, I think. Check out The Perfect Apocalypse at the Runaway Writers site. (Hmm... collaborative stories could be fun to jump back into!)
Since I'll be out of town during the actual "Slice" day, and may not get anything new up, I'm posting this for your reading pleasure.
A slow trickle of murky water drips from a rusty pipe into a small lake with slimy algae coating the surface. In the distance, a squat gray building mars the landscape. At the water’s edge nearest the pipe a small bush grows, rooted in a mound of ash. Scarlet blossoms release a hauntingly sweet aroma. Several vines have grown into the water, and the submerged blooms are swarmed by small fish nibbling. At the opposite shore, the slime is thick, and it has congealed around a floating bass.
Small gusts of wind lift puffs of the ash, scattering them into the distance.
In a silent glade, scarlet blossoms are being nibbled by a trembling fawn. The bush grows entwined with a fresh doe’s carcass. A drift of ash at the base mingles with a puddle of Mt. Dew spilled from a litter of cans.
Nearby, a glimpse into the shadows reveals a pair of wolves creeping near the fawn. One crouches lower, lower, then pounces.
A snarl, a flash of sharp white teeth, a splash of blood drips into the dirt.
A lone wolf darts away from the carnage, while the fawn rips into her kill.