An entry to a writing contest I didn’t win.
Fuck ’em. My mommy says I’m a
Tell me what song and/or short story this reminds you of and I’ll mail you a cupcake. Or a flattened puppy. Surprise is the spice of life.
Two days after the flashes appeared on the horizon, a hot wind blew from the south. It caught him in the open and scared him so much he scrambled down the south slope looking for shelter as the rain began falling. He crawled under an overhang, resting as he watched it fall and grow even darker.
He waited for morning and felt even more tired. Two days later, the sun appeared low on the horizon for but a minute, then night again. The rain slowed and the cold crept in further. It smelled different.
On the fifth day, he crawled from under the rock overhang and watched an orange stain form along the black eastern horizon. It brought just enough light to cast shadow across the land and never grew brighter. What could be seen was shrouded in ice. Still feeling exhausted he drifted down the rocks, lurching along through the black, frozen veneer.
The sky was dark and the birds, if they remained, were quiet. No footsteps but his own broke the silence nor left any sign upon the earth. The deer were gone. The willows were withered and dry as in winter and they whispered and fell in the wind that blew and made him feel sick.
On the sixth day he threw up blood. On the seventh, he collapsed beneath a dying spruce and knew he would not rise again. Somewhere that night a single lonely wolf pup wailed in the darkness. But there could be no answer.