| General Fiction posted May 16, 2017 |
  |
698 words
The Means to an End
by frogbook
The author has placed a warning on this post for language.
'So what if the world is ending,' Eddie spat. He didn't believe that bullshit. Everybody runnin' around grabbin' a shit-load of stuff; if the end was so damn near what did they need all this crap for anyway.
Not him, he was gonna just go about his business. As soon as these idiots were gone from their places, he was gonna be the rich one.
Yeah, he watched all those movies about the last man on Earth, and by God, it was gonna be him. He'd find the biggest mansion he could and plant himself there. He had enough weapons to make any possible stragglers his own personal servants.
Now there was a smart thing to stockpile...guns, ammo, weapons.
A sweet little one-man shelter would serve him, if this shit really hit the fan, but he had no reason to believe he would need it.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The afternoon sun beat down on the line of cars waiting impatiently to leave town. Occupants fought and cursed with the stress of fear and waiting. Kids cried, and the sweat ran down the faces of anxious drivers.
Eddie sat on his porch watching this miserable procession with a smirk on his face. These idiots had always looked suspiciously at him, whispering about him being a 'survivalist' and many said, 'Just plain crazy.' Yeah, well who's crazy now?' Did they really think the government had shelters for them?
One small boy, who somehow captured Eddie's heart, waved forlornly,from a blue mini-van. Eddie waved. Something about that sad little gesture gave him his first twinge of fear. He shook it off and laughed at himself for being so gullible.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A month now since these yahoos had driven off into the sunset and nothing has happened. No explosions, no fireballs, or mushroom clouds.
Walking boldly around the neighborhood, eating feasts at everyone else's expense, he had to admit he was getting a little bored. No T.V. or radio. What the shit did that mean? He never watched it anyway, but now with no one around...
Maybe he should have listened to the news. Why weren't they coming back?
Just when Eddie thought he would go nuts, around week six ( being the last man on Earth wasn't so fun after all), he found her, an emaciated, pitiful sight. Surprisingly, tenderly, he picked her up. She felt to be about the weight of a piece of paper, draping her head over his arm, tongue hanging out.
He gave her water with an eyedropper. She sucked it up desperately. He cooked a skillet of hamburger and fed her small pieces. He found himself laughing at the little faces she made.
A scraping on the door startled him. He peered out to see a tall thin dog. A weak bark and the little female sprung up to the door. He opened it a bit more, the two begin licking each other furiously.
"I take it you two know each other," Eddie chuckled.
Eddie went to every house on the block, gathering dog food and toys. Over the next days, the three became fast friends. They played in the park everyday with their purloined frisbees and tennis balls.
It was in the end of the second week that Eddie noticed the rash on his neck. It burned like a son-of-a bitch and looked like hell.
Next day it was on his legs. He felt really hot, even with cooler weather. When he couldn't throw the ball anymore, the dogs jumped up on either side of his chair and curled up on his lap. 'You're a little large to be a lapdog," he told the greyhound, but he didn't make her move.
Eddie could barely get out of bed. He never felt so bad in his life. Slowly, he walked to the drugstore. He took antibiotics, tubes of cortisone, a bottle of Calamine lotion, and filled a small bottle with Vicodin. He didn't want to take many pain pills and get addicted.
On the way out of the store, he saw the notice. 'Turn in all dogs. Although the disease can't make them sick, they are carriers.'
Looking down at his two best friends, a tear ran down his face.
Sunday, Monday, Doomsday... writing prompt entry
'So what if the world is ending,' Eddie spat. He didn't believe that bullshit. Everybody runnin' around grabbin' a shit-load of stuff; if the end was so damn near what did they need all this crap for anyway.
Not him, he was gonna just go about his business. As soon as these idiots were gone from their places, he was gonna be the rich one.
Yeah, he watched all those movies about the last man on Earth, and by God, it was gonna be him. He'd find the biggest mansion he could and plant himself there. He had enough weapons to make any possible stragglers his own personal servants.
Now there was a smart thing to stockpile...guns, ammo, weapons.
A sweet little one-man shelter would serve him, if this shit really hit the fan, but he had no reason to believe he would need it.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The afternoon sun beat down on the line of cars waiting impatiently to leave town. Occupants fought and cursed with the stress of fear and waiting. Kids cried, and the sweat ran down the faces of anxious drivers.
Eddie sat on his porch watching this miserable procession with a smirk on his face. These idiots had always looked suspiciously at him, whispering about him being a 'survivalist' and many said, 'Just plain crazy.' Yeah, well who's crazy now?' Did they really think the government had shelters for them?
One small boy, who somehow captured Eddie's heart, waved forlornly,from a blue mini-van. Eddie waved. Something about that sad little gesture gave him his first twinge of fear. He shook it off and laughed at himself for being so gullible.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A month now since these yahoos had driven off into the sunset and nothing has happened. No explosions, no fireballs, or mushroom clouds.
Walking boldly around the neighborhood, eating feasts at everyone else's expense, he had to admit he was getting a little bored. No T.V. or radio. What the shit did that mean? He never watched it anyway, but now with no one around...
Maybe he should have listened to the news. Why weren't they coming back?
Just when Eddie thought he would go nuts, around week six ( being the last man on Earth wasn't so fun after all), he found her, an emaciated, pitiful sight. Surprisingly, tenderly, he picked her up. She felt to be about the weight of a piece of paper, draping her head over his arm, tongue hanging out.
He gave her water with an eyedropper. She sucked it up desperately. He cooked a skillet of hamburger and fed her small pieces. He found himself laughing at the little faces she made.
A scraping on the door startled him. He peered out to see a tall thin dog. A weak bark and the little female sprung up to the door. He opened it a bit more, the two begin licking each other furiously.
"I take it you two know each other," Eddie chuckled.
Eddie went to every house on the block, gathering dog food and toys. Over the next days, the three became fast friends. They played in the park everyday with their purloined frisbees and tennis balls.
It was in the end of the second week that Eddie noticed the rash on his neck. It burned like a son-of-a bitch and looked like hell.
Next day it was on his legs. He felt really hot, even with cooler weather. When he couldn't throw the ball anymore, the dogs jumped up on either side of his chair and curled up on his lap. 'You're a little large to be a lapdog," he told the greyhound, but he didn't make her move.
Eddie could barely get out of bed. He never felt so bad in his life. Slowly, he walked to the drugstore. He took antibiotics, tubes of cortisone, a bottle of Calamine lotion, and filled a small bottle with Vicodin. He didn't want to take many pain pills and get addicted.
On the way out of the store, he saw the notice. 'Turn in all dogs. Although the disease can't make them sick, they are carriers.'
Looking down at his two best friends, a tear ran down his face.
|
Writing Prompt Write a flash fiction story up to 700 words that involves a doomsday scenario. Anything goes, but the end of the world, or its perception, must be a driving force in your story. |
You need to login or register to write reviews. It's quick! We only ask four questions to new members.
© Copyright 2024. frogbook All rights reserved.
frogbook has granted FanStory.com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
