Gripping the metal rod a little tighter, Alicia tried in vain to soften the parched dirt. A relentless sun was burning in her neck, and in a basket she kept the few precious seeds that she had spared.
‘I wonder if the seeds could have saved our goat’, she mumbled, hoping that the clouds that gathered would result in rains today.
‘Remember what happened to the dinosaurs’, Martha retorted, kicking up a dust-devil that settled with pebbles. ‘Soon we’ll join the damned goat’
Alicia felt anger building, but just like failing thunderstorms it faded into sobs:
‘We will leave tonight’
A little dystopian story today… I wonder if this is where we are all heading.
Friday Fictioneers are writing stories to the same picture every week. There is a limitation of 100 words that we are normally not ostracized for missing. I do not think that Rochelle ever count the words, but I always try to hit it exactly. Join the fun, or read some of the other stories from this creative bunch of people.
May 27, 2015