A collection of single chapter stories set in mystical worlds filled to the brim with trumoil, love and adventure.
Themes of Fantasy/Romance/Historical/Magic/War
Stand alone tales- descriptions for each in first chapter
A shorter one and in first person for something a little different.
Prompt: Post-apocalyptic struggle (Art from pixabay, Artist: FreeFunArt)
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Day 830:
I emerged from my bunker to an unfamiliar sight. In the old dead branches above, sat a great black creature the size of my head. It was a bird; sleek wings folded against its feathered body and the sharp narrow beak was open. I could have sworn it looked straight at me with eyes that had seen many horrors. From its mouth came a haunting Caw; a harsh sound that sent a chills down my spine to my feet.
I approached. The two of us locked eyes as the only living things in the barren wasteland I'd made my home. Another caw made me shiver and I cast my attention elsewhere to take in my surroundings.
Clear. No breeze.
The scotched earth reeked of sulphur which assaulted my nostrils even through the scarf I wore over my face. It was icy cold up here, the Gale wind cutting into my exposed skin and leaving raised goosebumps. No trees remained, save the hollowed out trunk that marked my bunker. It had been years since I'd seen the colour of green leaves or felt the soft blades of grass between my fingers and the thought had me pondering the same question I always came back to; What is left?
There was a rustle of claws on wood and I turned to see the bird watching me with dark beady eyes.
Have you come to eat me, Little Crow? I asked it in my mind, fearful of the sound my own voice would make. It tilted its head unnervingly before it spread its wings and fled. I watched it fly into the open expanse of nothingness. What I wouldn't give to see what you can. I wondered where its flight would take it and if it would see any others like me; lost, but unable to know from where. Destined to roam without a destination.
I did not get far that day. My feet were slow and my mind distracted.
Day 841:
There was not much paper left to use. The pile of empty cans was building in the corner and I knew the emergency box of ration bars was almost barren. This was my fifth 'home' and had been rather depleted before I'd made my way here about four months ago. My charcoal was but a nib between my fingers as I mapped out the dry river bed I had been exploring.
I'd followed it for hours the first day before I had to return. The next day I'd run there, heading northwest, and spent as much time as I could looking for anything of value. It had been the direction the crow had gone and I felt a glimmer of hope it had seen something beyond the horizon I could not.
Next to me on the metal bench I used as a table were the scraps of civilisation I'd scavenged from the river bed. A rusted bucket with a wood handle, a gold locket necklace and tattered leather wallet full of plastic cards...all useless. My precious compass sat at the corner of my page and spun idly when I tapped it, before returning to north.
