The people of Free Frall spilled from their underground homes as the first light of day hit the garbage and stink of the world. If you were to watch from afar, you might be reminded of a family of Meerkats.
If you even remembered what those were.
Something was different today. Was the air lighter? Did it seem to choke your lungs and heart less today?
The sun was still as hot as any level of Hell. Can’t catch a break on that.
Looking around, the hues of brown useless items and grey dead skies still lingered. The air was still dry and lifeless. The ground was still cracked and plantless.
Yet…
All eyes turned to the gas station, with it’s one door wide open to a very dark and sinister interior inside. A door that you generally did not want to go through. A door that led to Edward “The Squid” Morrison’s make-shift office. A door that if you walked through, you would leave poorer than when you entered…or dead.
A door that might as well been constructed with blood and bone and hopelessness and broken spiruts.
Everyone waited. Silent. Ears cocked to one side listening. Waiting to see the figure of Morrison fill the door frame. Waiting for the day’s hope to be crushed a little more.
Waiting…
The people waited an hour, not moving, barely breathing, eyes drying, lips cracking.
Nothing. Nothing happened except the door moved slightly when a faint breeze gave everyone a smidgen of relief from the sun’s crushing sizzle.
Crawford decided he had enough. To the hushed gasps of the townspeople he started slowly approaching the gas station, a building no longer needing to supply gas and pre packaged donuts and coffee.
The onlookers didn’t stop him. They just watched.
And placed bets in their heads if he would still be alive that day.
Crawford made it to the opening much faster than he wanted to, and hesitantly raised his hand to knock on the weathered and splintered wood of the door frame. He didn’t need to though, he could easily see inside.
It was empty.
Completely.
Not even one chair was left, because that would have been useful.
“He’s gone,” croaked Crawford. “Everything is gone.”
At first the crowd was stunned in disbelief, and then slowly smiles lit everyone’s faces. Some starting clapping, others were laughing and blowing out great sighs of relief. The Bowlery clan started shaking everyone’s hand.
A calm came over the neighborhood of Free Frall, a calm that has not shown itself in such a long time.
And then suddenly a silence.
And a realization.
And no one wanted to say the thought that came to everyone at once….
What do we do now?!
—–
This is a companion piece to an apocalyptic world David Stewart is creating. To catch up, read his works here:
Saturday, 4am Droog’s Story The Road To Cambridge Outside the Gates of Cambridge, Part 1 Outside the Gates of Cambridge, Part 2 My other companion piece can be found here: Saturday, 4:25 am
Christopher De Voss 
The descriptions in the first few lines jump right out at me. The ‘lifeless air’ and the ‘cracked ground’ especially.
Thank you. I’m not really a writer, so that means a lot. I just like to dabble.
man jezzzz i thought it was a cool enough picture then i read the story and it was like twice as cool of a picture
Thank you. Be sure to read the rest. You won’t be disappointed.
You’ve got a great writing style. I really like this.
Thank you. I call it more of a writing bumble.
Edward “the Squid” Morrison is gone? I was happy and sad at the same time. I held my breath knowing Crawford was toast – then you saved him. Yay. . … I enjoy your dabbling and bumbling, Chris. You should do more of it.
I usually do. In the middle of the night. When I have to potty and can’t find the light switch.
You are funny, but too modest. 🙂 Nice choice of graphic to go with your story, too.
Loved the fact that it just crackles with energyt!
If you lived there you wouldn’t think so…ha ha!
ho ho!
Me too.
if this is you dabbling and bumbling while making your offerings in the dark shadows of the porcelain god’s throne room….he must be well pleased with your gifts. this is wonderful writing and me thinks you are not really a ‘not really’ writer.
That was very profound. Thank you.
that was ME dabbling on my own she goddess’s throne. but still stand by it…wonderful writing.
deal! today!
Always!
Awesome. I love the background info. After all, once Edward leaves on his own quest, what happens to those left behind? You gotta stop saying you’re not a writer 😉
Thank ye kind sir! (Don’t know why I felt the need to respond like a Charles Dickson character.)
Reblogged this on The Green-Walled Tower and commented:
Here is Chris’ companion piece to my Edward Morrison stories, telling what happens after the Squid leaves. It’s a great story and the mood here is perfect.
Reblogged it on mine. It makes a great addition to the world of Edward Morrison (I’m not sure what to call the world or setting. I’ve been calling it Aftermath, in my own files).
Thanks! Aftermath is good. It definitely needs a name.