“There’s nothing in the pantry,” she said, her eyes shallow and lips dry. “No preserves, no meat. Nothing.”
Heavier than her words were their impact. Each rang like a church bell, tolling the doom of a future we would never have the chance to experience.
“The firewood won’t last us through winter.”
Morning frost had already danced across our window glass. I swallowed, trying to drown reality in the rising bile of a stomach long since full.
Out, away across city blocks, were happier buildings. Their doors hid bursting wallets, merry parties and oblivious cruelty.
But concertos can’t snuff out torches.
The start of a story but not one as it now reads
Man… if this is the beginning of a short story or novel, I’m in! The first few sentences were effective taps on the shoulder that quickly evolved to a gut punch by the end of the second paragraph…
I once attended a writer’s workshop that suggested using micro-fiction as a launch pad for longer pieces of work. This would be a story I would be curious about.
Great story.
🙂
This makes me very curious for the rest of the story! Well done!