Living without the Lights on

Post apocalyptic and scared the remainder of the human race emerge to the worst welcome party...

The icy tundra wind was edged with a note of sadness on the second day of pain – and it bit at the skin with extra ferocity, chapped the lips and kissed the flaked skin with a false love.

Inside a kernel of warmth hidden under the white flurries that flew and danced outside, was a fire crackling, the resin seeping and sticky on the logs and filling the room with a gentle pine scent, a clatter of cutlery and crockery immersed in soapy water.  Suddenly the wooden door flew off the hinges and the glass the man was holding fell on the floor.

Snow blew past the monster in the doorway, the door in tatters about it, blood and ripped muscle and sinew stuck to its frozen limbs. Its face was twisted and frostbitten, the nose and ears green and dead, the eyes framed with icicles and the lips blue. Guttural, primal noises filled the air and the creature paced forward, slow and frozen. The fire blew out and the tiny house was bathed in darkness.
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The End

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