Flash Fiction 2

There it was, just within my grasp. As I opened the sacred pure white chest, a yellow glow and a refreshing sense of coolness came over me all at once. I saw my prize before me. This is it, I thought, this is what will allow me to complete the Final Task. My quest was over, I had won.

And then, a voice. I turned around to face the one person I did not expect. My brother.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, stunned.

He said nothing. There was no life in his eyes; the cold, blackness that filled his eyes were of the same void that now filled his heart. He stepped forward and past me, towards the object of my search. He picked it up, judged its weight for a moment, and began to walk away.

"I won't let you do that!" I screamed after him. "You stubborn fool! I won't let you win! Not today!"

"It appears that I have already won," he chuckled as he continued out of the room.

Furious, I brandished my weapon and started after him. I chased him all the way into a room with just a table and six chairs. Two bowls sat across from each other, awaiting the precious object that my brother now had. One bowl represented justice; the other, doom and despair. I knew I had to stop my brother from filling the latter with his evilness, which would prevent me from completing the Final Task.

I then hatched a scheme. Enjoy your last delusions of victory, my brother, I thought, for today, I have won. I threw my weapon to the floor, making a loud crashing sound in order to distract him. I now had a few seconds to switch the two bowls without him noticing. When his attention turned back to me, I gave him my challenge.

"Go ahead," I taunted, "I won't stop you." Without looking away from me, he proceeded to pour the contents of the sacred object into what he thought was his own bowl. Then, he looked down.

"What is this? I got Cap'n Crunch! These are Frosted Mini Wheats!"

"Foiled again, oh brother of mine!"

He poured the rest of the milk into his own cereal. I picked up my spoon off the ground and we both ate our breakfasts. Today will be a good day at cross country practice, I thought, now that I've had my breakfast.

Flash Fiction 1

I am going to start randomly posting some flash fiction stories. For those of you who don't know what flash fiction is, it is defined as being a story written in under 2,000 words. These stories will most likely be much shorter; Hemingway himself considered one of his flash fiction works to be his best, and it was no longer than six words. I hope to use this as a writing exercise in preparation for writing the first of several short stories for this blog. Enjoy!

"I promise I will take you with me..."

These words have crept across my dreams for the last twelve days.

Today is Year 2, Month 7, Day 4.

It's the Fourth of July, but we're sure that the fireworks outside of the shelter easily dwarf anything human hands could conduct for this celebration. Rather than draw needless attention to ourselves, we celebrate in secrecy. A quiet joy fills the camp this morning; a sense of pride doused in fear and ignited by suspicion, leaving us in a fiery world of routine and misery. The idea of death has long since passed through our camp. The five of us that remain have watched it too many times to find its uncertainty frightening in the least. Fear has gripped us for so long that it has lost its sting. Death is more of a curiosity than a constant anxiety. I think of my own death as nothing more than a date. When I die, my comrades will see that my body is destroyed and will enjoy increased rations. There is no fear in that.

The dreamers die first. The optimists who saw this as a temporary solution, who truly believed they could see an ending other than death, who still believed in anything, these were the ones who fell victim to their own idealism. Honor and final justice did away with the foolish and the weak. Thirty of us entered this bunker when the virus fell upon our town. There was a period of time in which we saw very little activity and no attacks. During this time, some believed that the strong had survived and that the weakest had already been weeded out of our group. Then, one night, three of them were taken while on post by the infected.

The five of us who remain are not brave. We are not strong. We are not courageous. We are here. Hopeful idealists, cynical pessimists, heartbroken mourners, all of us have been taken in the night at some point. The ones who are left did not earn their right to life any more than the ones who have died. They are simply here.

I am here.

"I promise..."

I made my decision to stay in the town when my wife was infected. We had only just moved to Odessa a few months before the virus hit, and we had no real attachment to the town. We had already decided that we were going to evacuate with the majority of the townspeople the night the virus was discovered. Our caravan was attacked shortly after nightfall. She rode in one of the few working cars with the other women and children. At the time, we knew little of the infected. Initially, they show no physical symptoms. Their speech is clear, their movement patters are normal. The cerebellum is the first to succumb to the infection. Within the first few minutes of being infected, a victim can still think clearly and speak while their body is controlled by the virus. They crept among us and drew near to the vehicles. Then, they all rose instantly and attacked the cars. My wife was among the first of the victims. As she was dragged away, the oath that now resonated in my head shook the night sky.

"I promise! I promise I will take you with me!"

Night has fallen.

I am peering through the space through the boards that cover the only window in the bunker, searching the open street for any signs of movement. Shops have been literally torn apart as the infected search for food. The town has long since been evacuated; we are the only ones left. I begin to allow my mind to wander, a decision I rarely make because of the futility of the act. What are we waiting for? The government? A cure? Death? I check myself. This sort of thinking has lead others to their deaths too many times before. I've watched too many logical men brazenly walk out into the open, only to be torn apart within seconds. It is my irrational way of thinking that has kept me alive. Insanity, you are my savior.

Something moved outside. Instinctively, I fear the worst. They've found us. We're finished. And then, a voice. A human voice. How is this possible? We've long since outlasted any of the other survivors. There is no salvation outside of this bunker. I've had to convince myself of this to keep myself alive. And yet, I hear it again. It sounds more familiar this time, a bit clearer.

I have decided to stand. My knees initially rejected this idea, having not supported my weight in what must have been upwards of three weeks. Eventually, I convince my body that I was serious about this and now I am walking to the end of the bunker. As I peek past the door, with my head in full view, I can hear the voice again.

It's her. She is saying my name.

I can barely believe that she is alive. I have long since given up hope of finding here again. And yet, she has found me. I am overcome with joy and temporarily throw safety aside and instead rush to bring her inside. I must do this for her. I must protect her. I must save her.

As I approach the rubble from whence I heard her voice, I can see that she is somewhat buried underneath. I frantically lift rocks and long pieces of steel off of her so that I can carry her out. As I dig, I discover that, while it is my wife, I have not found the one I expected to find. Her skin is pale, her hair is white and thin, her eyes are large and dilated. I smell blood on her breath. She lunges at me, knocking me on my back and pinning me to the ground. My knees feel as if they have split; I am completely immobile.

She snarls as she drags me back into a nearby building to feast on my carcass. "I told you I would take you with me."

Welcome

Welcome to TMHAM, my personal writing blog. Many of you know me either from Uncyclopedia or from my other blog, Confessions Of An Uncyclopedian. I'm going to lay the jokes aside for a bit and follow my colleagues in setting up a blog for actual stories that no one will ever read. Sure, this post is more of a placeholder than anything else. But, then again, if I answered all of your questions right away, where would be the fun in that? What does the title of this blog even mean? Are these stories going to be any good?

Just read, goddammit.

Cheers,
~SysRq