The Geeky Quill asked about my writing. I realize I haven't written much about it here in awhile, so I dug out an old story. I wrote this for a contest over at Writing.com The first paragraph was provided, and we had to finish the scene. I won. I think because I was the only person to put a positive spin on the story.
Roaches. Thousands… no, MILLIONS of roaches came streaming out from under the old refrigerator, the rusty stove, and the broken-down cabinets. They scuttled over the countertops, and from beneath the peeling wallpaper. We looked on in horror and absolute disbelief as the tide of insects swept unerringly in our direction.
Disgusted beyond words, I turned to flee when Greg grabbed my arm, stopping me.
“Sandy, get a grip. Don’t you see what this means?” He actually sounded excited. Was he out of his mind?
I once saw a group of ants attack and kill a live grasshopper. The gruesome scene was very much in my mind as I watched the advancing insects.
“It means we need to get the hell out of here.” I tried to pull my arm away, but he held firm.
“No. There must be water here somewhere.”
That beautiful magic word pushed my fears back just far enough to listen to him.
“There’s no way this many roaches could live here without a water source. Think about it. We’ve seen them before, but nothing like this.”
I knew he was right. He was always right, damn him.
Since the fighting stopped we’d been waiting to find out what happened, and what would happen next. We assumed the government, one of them anyway, would tell us what to do. But no one ever came. We knew by now that no one ever would. Survivors and stragglers, all wandering lost, we found each other.
Every day Greg and I had been scavenging together. Looking for food, supplies, anything we could use, but always, ALWAYS needing water. Our small band of survivors would be even smaller if not for some of Greg’s ideas. As repulsed as I was, I had no choice but to follow him. He felt my resistance drop, and released my arm.
“All right, let’s find it.” He marched into the sea of bugs.
Taking a deep breath and imagining a big glass of cool water in my mind to block out the crunching sounds, I followed.
Greg pulled open the cabinet under the sink, which came off in his hand. There was nothing inside, no pipes, not even any roaches.
To me it looked like most were coming from behind the fridge. I opened the door, and fought down the bile that rose into my chest.
“Over here.” I managed to squeak out, turning away from the sight of cockroaches in various stages of development coating all the shelves of…well, who knows what it used to be. There was a powerful smell of rot and decay. Beyond all that I’d seen a large hole rusted through the back of the fridge, exposing a mossy pipe with a slow drip.
Rushing to my side, Greg gaped at it, and whispered, “We’re saved.”
And this isn't A Sci-Fi piece, but I'm proud of it because someone else liked it enough to publish it:
A Thief in the Night
Now writing this entry has inspired me to do some work on my sad, neglected alien cuttlefish story. I'll let you know how that goes if I ever finish it.