Tag: three sentences

Three Sentence Stories (Part 3)

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It has been four days since the dead began to rise, to devour and infect the living, and three days since I locked myself and my wife in our basement, with the dead pounding at our door. My wife is sure that she can think of a way out, while I think we face certain death, either by starvation or a much more violent means. I scratch at the bite mark hidden under my sleeve, look at my sleeping wife and remind myself that this will be quicker.

There is a man in the house with a knife, prowling as I hide in the closet. I breathe as quietly as possible, my heart pounding in my ears as I wait for him to turn to leave. I don’t have a weapon, but I’m sure that my reactions will be quicker than a paranoid old man searching for intruders in the dark.

I am unable to sleep at all on this holiday. I thought that staying in a house built into a sandstone cliff would be quiet, but I can hear what sounds like chatter from neighbours late at night. I don’t think it would bother me as much if  the voices and laughter were coming from a side that wasn’t supposed to be solid rock.

 

Three Sentence Stories (Part 2)

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I sit perfectly still on my bed, cradling my infant son. It’s just me and him in this house, since his mother passed. From the baby monitor on my night-stand I hear a familiar woman’s voice, weeping and calling for her son, and I hear the floorboards creak in the hallway outside my door.

Everyone stopped talking three days ago. One morning I awoke from a dream of horribly twisted creatures hissing truths and, half dazed as I walked outside, I could see in my neighbours’ eyes that he had seen the same. It is a terrible secret we all bear now, and no one is willing to be the first to break the silence, to acknowledge it and to live in the world where we know that God has no love for us.

The walls in my house are moving in my sleep. Every time I wake up it takes me a little longer to figure out how to leave, and every time I fall asleep I awake in my bed again, wherever it has been put. It’s been days now, and I am tired beyond belief but I am sure I’ll find the front door soon, before the walls close in.

 

Three Sentence Stories

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I know without a doubt that the person who stares back at me from the mirror is not my reflection. No matter how terrifying this idea, however, I hope she comes back soon. I can’t  move unless she’s here.

After a year I opened the hatch to the bomb shelter and looked outside for a moment before weeping, then ducking back inside and bolting it closed for another year. I turned to my family and, still weeping, told them that it wasn’t safe to go outside yet. I think the tears really sold it for me.

I lie awake, too terrified to move. I can hear my husband’s snoring from behind me, and I have the scars to remind me of how violent he can be if disturbed. Most of the marks are faded now, so many months after he died from the poison I put in his coffee.