Picture prompts are a sure fire way to squeeze out some creative juice. This one was inspired by a prompt on uninspiredwriters Instagram page. But you guys should check out her brand new blog page, just click on the name!
Anywho, all critique is welcome. Keep in mind that my flash fiction pieces are only fun ways to focus my mind on writing, and in no way are meant to be perfectly edited prose. Thanks, and I hope you enjoy!
The land was dead, left to wither and turn to ash beneath the scolding sun. Everything, but for me. It felt like such an injustice, seeing as I deserved it more. Wasn’t it I who saw the signs? Wasn’t it I who could have protected those I loved? Instead, I let the world smolder. Yet heart beating, skin warm I moved on towards the mountains. Their snow-capped peaks lured me with their promise of redemption.
The radio signal came four days ago. The voice was the first I’d heard in months, barely audible above the crackle of white noise. Angelic and innocent, it spoke of salvation in the high mountains, and my heart quickened with the thought of survivors. Perhaps I had not failed humanity at all? Maybe, I cleansed it of its evil ways. Wasn’t that what papa preached every Sunday? The wicked shall fall, and the righteous shall rise from the ashes? If what he spoke were true, what does that make me? I pinned the thought to the furthest corner of my mind.
Before leaving my bunker, I stocked my pack with what little provision I had left, clasped my sleeping bag into place, and hoisted my father’s rifle over my shoulder. He was a priest, yes, but schooled his daughter’s to hunt. I had few bullets left, but I was a steady shot, and one was all I needed to lay down my target. Not that many could survive the desolation above, but better to be protected. I crawled up the seven-wrung stairwell and heaved open the metal cap.
Blisters formed and burst within my worn shoes, the tarmac road long since passed beneath my feet. The uneven ground swayed my body and my mind, as the accusing sun beat against my temples. The winding, dried riverbed guided me onward, toward my fate.
It would be decided there, between the sentinel peaks. Perhaps I would find my redeemers, or perhaps I would finally join the wastelands.