flash fiction from October 2014
Cowering on her bed she listened to the creaking boards, remembering the dark gleaming eyes glimpsed through the shattered plasterwork. Trembling she summoned a last vestige of courage, grasping the overturned broom handle she limped toward the tattered pieces of wood and cardboard denoting what had once been her bedroom wall. A scurrying sound preceded her. Must be a dog, she told herself. If it were looters they’d not have run, besides there was nothing left to loot, nothing except the cans under her bed that had kept her alive these few weeks.
She’d heard the rioting as the last folks were rounded up and placed on army trucks. Her injured leg still incapacitating her, she’d lain cowering as enemy forces over ran the city scouring for any food and supplies, machine guns braking through the silence. Since they left only the smell of death invaded her windows. She was…
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