This is only one of several stories as part of a Storytime Blog Hop. Want to read more? Links are at the bottom!
The Last One By Jemma Weir
The moon cast more shadows than light through the twisted blinds. It was just enough to let
Marisa see the sharp edges and pale shadows of the debris that littered the floor. The colours were pale and washed out, barely recognisable anymore. The air stirred for a moment, bringing the smell of things that had been burnt, then it was gone.
She shook herself and took a quiet step forward, careful to stand in a gap with her bare feet. Darkness came as the clouds hid the moon. She stood still, sweat trickling down her spine, did she risk another step? Did she wait? Could she afford to wait? The thoughts raced through her as she hesitated, afraid to make the wrong choice.
The moonlight returned and she quickly danced forward. Something crunched under her foot, the noise loud in the silence. Pain sharp and instant hit her, her foot burned. She froze, heart racing so loudly she could barely hear anything else. Nothing moved around her.
She had to be more careful. She couldn’t let the others find her here.
She lifted her foot slowly, trying to minimise the noise as what she had crushed spread out. She let out the breath she had been holding and limped over the last of the debris, her foot throbbing. Warm liquid dripped down her toe. She was almost there, no one had come yet. She just had to go a little further.
Ahead she could see the shadow of her destination, so far back from the light that it was barely a form in the darkness. If she hadn’t known what she was looking at she would never have found it. The floor turned cold and smooth, soothing some of the pain, but she would have to move faster now.
She moved closer, hand already out in front of her. Her foot slipped, blood making the floor slick. She tried to catch herself. Her elbow slammed into something hard, a dull thud pulsed as the pain hit. Something moved, skidding to the edge. She grabbed blindly, scrambling to catch what was falling before it hit the ground. It almost slipped through her fingers, but she stopped it. Gripping so hard she could feel the indents on her hard.
There was a flash of light, then a scream. The loud, piercing sound slashed at her brain like a knife. Then it was gone, cut off before it could finish, the silence echoing around her as it had never happened. Her pounding heart drummed against her ears. She panted, trying to remember how to take deep breaths, to pull in enough air. Had someone heard? Would they come to investigate?
She pulled herself together, no longer caring about the noise, her hip bumped something cold, and wet but she ignored it as she grabbed the handle and reached inside. Praying as her fingers scraped across the bare wood until she found it. Hope surged, then died as the silky surface crumpled in her fingers.
Marisa collapsed to the kitchen floor, blinking away tears as she stared out across the toy strewn floor. The smell of burnt dinner followed her. She cursed silently, crushing the empty wrapper in her hand.
She had been too late. Someone else had beaten her here. She let the TV control box slide out her hand, it clicked against the tiles as it landed. It no longer mattered if they heard her.
That had been the last one. Lockdown had only just started. How was she going to last two whole weeks without chocolate?
She wasn’t sure any of them were going to survive.
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The Last One by Jemma Weir < – You are here