Dead snakes littered the ground outside the aging farm house. Their twisted bodies still twitched with the last breath of life. Death always preceded their arrival.
“Step away from the window, Tara. There isn’t much time left.”
His words trailed off, obscured by the sound of rifle shells clattering onto the wood floor.
Six hours swept by in a blur. Tara still gripped the sides of her head when the sun first rays washed across the room.
“Tara? It’s over, we did it.”
Michael’s weak smile told Tara otherwise. In twelve hours the madness would begin again.
You are really showing up for this (shall we say) challenge. Good for you!
Keep up the good work,
ps I blogged at the university bookstore blogspot … and you may or may not be interested in the subject matter. My next blog there (in cue to be posted) is about dystopian fiction which is right up your alley.