StoryBurst 1
It was dark out, and cold.
Brief attempts at a breeze tugged at his coattails, failing to distract him from the task at hand. He slowly lifted a foot, planted it firmly on the British commander's chest, and coaxed his rapier from its corporeal scabbard. Examining the lifeless military genius before him, Washington grabbed a pinch of snuff from his inner coat pocket, lifted it to his nose to savor its invigorating scent, and inhaled it in a single violent snort.
He lifted his gaze, surveyed the battlefield briefly, and chose the highest-ranking officer he could see. Casually ducking and sidestepping stray bullets, he began the purposeful stride that could only end in the shuffling off of his target's mortal coil.
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Helen took another bite of last night's casserole.
"It's not like you're never gonna have another chance, you know."
"I know. But this would have been perfect timing. I need the money, and God knows I'm not getting any younger." Liz poured herself some Honey Nut Cheerios.
"Oh come on. It was hardly the ideal circumstance. The guy had fucking warts."
"Yeah, well. I need rent money, and if dealing with the warts is what it takes, I wouldn't complain. He was pretty loaded." Liz snaked her arm to the back of the refrigerator and maneuvered a quart-sized milk carton through the jungle of abandoned juices and condiments.
"I think you can do a lot better. What about that guy from Springfield? He seemed to like you."
"He got married. Moved to Virginia."
"Bummer. And hey, what does getting older have to do with it?"
"Oh, don't be patronizing. People want a pretty face, nice skin. It's not all about skill. And even if it was, it's not like I'm getting any practice recently." Liz sat across from Helen, staring at her cereal.
"Eh. It's like riding a bike. And from what I hear, you're the best in the county."
"Maybe you should notify the population, cause that bitch Julianne is getting all the business. I dunno, maybe I should pursue a new career." Liz sighed and got up to fetch the spoon she had forgotten.
"Oh, don't be like that." Helen scraped the last bits of spinach from her bowl. "You're doing what you love. You'll get back on your feet and you'll feel accomplished and content. If you went out and got a job at a video store or something you'd just feel empty inside. You'd miss seeing those relaxed, satisfied looks. You thrive on giving people physical pleasure. You always have."
"Look, I never said that massage therapy was my life's work. I like it, yeah, but I think there are things I'd like more." Liz sat back down.
"Oh yeah?" Helen raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Like what?"
Liz savored the first crunchy bite of her cereal. "I dunno. Prostitution?"
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It had been seven weeks since the bomb went off, but Franklin still went through the same routine every morning; wake up in good cheer, throw open the curtains, frown at the lack of sunshine, grow horrified at the clouds of ash, and then, finally, re-enter despondency as he remembered all that had happened.
Today was no different. Except, of course, that he was now out of beans, which, with the previous consumption of all his meat and eggs, left him wholly without a source of protein. There were still scattered cans of creamed corn, and beets, and something called Nutella. But Franklin needed to find a source of food other than pillaging the houses of his erstwhile neighbors. What he really needed was to leave the town, find somewhere where society was still functioning, like everyone else had done. But Franklin had no car, and nobody else had a spot for him as they frantically fled. And now, according to the radio, nobody was allowed to enter the entire tri-county area for fear of radiation. He had seen one plane fly over the town a few weeks ago, but he hadn't had the presence of mind before it arrived to set up some indication that he was still there; and though he had now arranged spare lumber into a large "HELP," no other planes were forthcoming. The town was a small one; even before everyone evacuated, the population never broke three digits. No doubt any rescue efforts would be concentrating on the cities.
But the task at hand was to find breakfast. Franklin wrapped a t-shirt around his nose and mouth, put on the safety goggles he had salvaged from the local hardware store, and grabbed an empty canvas sack and a lead pipe. Mildly invigorated by the preparation for his quest, he set out to the south, toward the wealthier part of town, where he hadn't yet exhausted the possibilities, but where people didn't characteristically buy most of their food in canned form. At first, he had reasoned that the poor people would have less food and poorer quality, so it would go bad faster and it would make sense to leave the better stuff until later, but he was soon disillusioned. Plus, of course, the fleeing families had reflexively locked their doors despite having no realistic chance of ever returning to the town.
Franklin preferred not to have to break windows (especially not rich-person windows, with their double-glazing and reinforcement). A house sealed against the outside was a good thing to have when the ash storms started up. Franklin now had several such safehouses around town, including the house next door to the one he was targeting today. It was therefore not important that he refrain from vandalizing this one; nonetheless, he tried all the doors and pushed all the windows in hopes of finding something unlocked. Upon being disappointed, he sighed, set down his sack, and lifted the pipe to attack the largest window at ground floor he could find. Before he could swing, however, he was stilled by a sound coming from inside. He held his breath and listened. The ash swirled around, and dry trees crackled in the distance, but other than that it was just the pure eerie silence that had taken up residence in the town. His heart thumping, and his brain hoping against hope that he wasn't going to regret this, he took as hearty a swing as he could muster, cracking the window. This time he was sure he heard something inside, something skittering in fear. Something alive! Franklin was hopeful. It was probably a rat or some other vermin, but maybe someone had left their dog or cat here and he could save it. On the other hand, whatever it was might well have rabies, or at least ravenous hunger. It would probably be best just to --
The glass shattered outward so strongly that even if nothing else had happened, Franklin might have been blinded. As it turned out, though, the glass was the least of his worries, as he found himself flailing wildly against growling, hairy, scratchy, slobbery, toothy attacks. The animal pinned him down and clamped down on Franklin's throat, shaking vigorously. As his neck gave in to the violent force and finally severed itself from his spinal cord, Franklin realized: the teeth, the lips around them, the position of the nose where it met his neck, the curly, scratchy hair, the hands that were holding his own arms down... this animal was human. Or it used to be.