The following short story was inspired by today’s Wednesday Writing Prompt
The river is the only safe place to travel. The dead couldn’t swim. I long to return to the shore, to feel the warm sun on my skin and to give my weary arms a break, but I can’t. I can see them through the trees; their eyes empty, hollow. They stand unmoving like statues yet I can feel their dead gaze upon me as I maneuver my boat through the water.
I set my paddle down and take a moment to catch my breath. I’m out in the open in the relative calm and safety of the water. Up ahead of me the river narrows and I fear it may become shallow enough for the dead to reach me.
I lean back in my seat and close my eyes as the gentle breeze caresses my face. I am so very tired and I allow my eyes to stay closed.
I feel the hull of my kayak hit something and sit up awake. How had I allowed myself to sleep? I’ve drifted toward the shore and I’m hung up on a tree just below the surface. I sense movement on the shore and the dead statues begin to move sensing I am nearby. I hear the splash as the dead hit the water and make their slow shuffle toward me.
I put my paddle in the water and attempt to push off the submerged debris. It takes me a moment. There is a current driving me closer to the dead who make their way across the shallow water to the edge of my kayak. I feel a thump behind me as the first of them arrive.
I’m free of the tree below the water but the dead have my boat now. I attempt to paddle free but there’s too much dead weight. I turn and use my paddle as a ram but the dead don’t flinch.
Closer and closer, they are nearly upon me. I pull out my pistol, only three bullets remain. I make them count. Two head shots and the dead weight is gone. I drop the pistol into my lap and pick up my paddle only to find another two ahead of me. Another head shot, another one gone but alas, there is little I can do against the fourth and the horde behind him.
I am certain this is the end but then there is a boom in the distance. It’s just loud enough to give the dead pause. The air changes and a green haze consumes the once brilliant blue sky. The dead remain still as they are torn between the new sound and me.
I remain frozen in place, unwilling to remind the dead of my proximity to them. The air changes, it smells funny and tastes almost metallic. The dead one in front of me sinks into the water. He makes a splashing sound as he does and I fear he has drawn the others to me but as I look around, I hear more splashes and see more dead falling.
It takes me a moment to realize what is happening. I have survived and the dead are falling. I’m alive and the dead are truly dead now. I paddle my kayak away from the horde and under the bridge. Through the trees I can see and hear them falling. Something in that green hazy air doesn’t agree with the dead. I only hope it agrees with me.
End Transmission.
He walked in circles, his hands pulling at his hair as he tried to figure out what to do. He passed a small metal trash can by the door. He kicked it hard. Unfortunately it didn’t fly into the middle of the room like he was expecting. Instead it hit the cabinet, bounced off, and collided with his right shin. He reflexively pulled back as the can rolled between his legs. Unable to maintain his balance, Tim went tumbling to the floor. This time, the trash can did fly out spilling its contents all over the fallen man who had just broken his New Year’s resolution.