I’ve found several websites that intrigue me in regards to writing. I’m impressed to have discovered other writers out there who, like me, are interested in hearing other voices. The following short story was my contribution over at http://writetodone.com/2012/12/24/scene-stealers-writing-prompt/. This “Write To Done” site is one of several I’ve discovered over the last week or so and this challenge was quite interesting. Rules are as follows;
-You must use the exact wording we provide—in this case it must appear in the beginning of your story.
-Your story must be 350 words or less.
-Your work must be original and not previously published.
The first sentence of the story is the already provided one. Anyway, without further ado, here’s my short story of Ron.
“Ron etched another line in the wall of the mud hut that had been his home for the last 31 days. When would the nightmare end?
As he heard the moans outside, he shuddered. Although he knew they were still a good distance off, he wasn’t entirely sure how much time he had. Ron didn’t even know if they would come for him at this point. He looked at his arm and wondered if it would happen to him as well. He knew the answer to the question that he dared not ask aloud but he couldn’t help and be curious. The question wasn’t so much “if” as “when”.
Why on earth had he made the trip outside yesterday? It was a completely unnecessary risk to check the garden. His first couple of trips to acquire the tomatoes that had not been attacked by insects had been fruitful but there was no way to maintain the garden while attempting to hide in this hut. What did he have to show for it? Some fresh blood stains on his shovel and a bite from one of the latest visitors.
The bite mark had begun festering this morning. The smell from the wound filled the entire hut and, although not quite overpowering yet, appeared to be headed past the point of being covered by the other surrounding smells. His nostrils flared up with the stench every time he moved the arm.
Ron knew was that any bodily fluids from them could steal your humanity and your senses. To be touched was to be assimilated. He had seen it happen to people he knew and he was not prepared to become one himself.
The moans were closer now. Ron couldn’t think clearly any longer; his thoughts became cloudier and cloudier until eventually the moans were coming from his own mouth, joining into the chorus of those outside.”