Catastrophe

She crouched underneath the dilapidated teacher’s desk, her heart thudding in her throat, listening through the silence for the inevitable sound of footsteps.  In front of her, on something that used to resemble a human wrist, a watch’s second hand ticked back and forth, time frozen at ten forty-eight precisely.  Once bright and colorful, the decorations on the walls were faded and dusty.  She wondered what living in the mundane normalcy of school would have been like.  Her parents had grown up before the end of the world, and used to tell her how much they had taken for granted.  Now, at twelve years old, she was about to kill her first zombie, to earn her place in the family clan—the people who had all had a hand in raising her—and prove that she was, indeed, an adult.
 

The second hand on the watch swung like a metronome, and she waited, knowing that it would be soon.  Uncle Jay stalked somewhere in the rundown building, luring her first kill closer.  Her clan had been protecting the town and surrounding area since she was born, and had finally rid it of zombies three years ago.  Every so often, a new one would wander in, looking for undiseased meat, and someone would have to take care of it before others followed in its bloody wake.  This one belonged to her, and she had long since proven her accuracy on moving targets.  Still, her hands trembled on her Remington and she wished that she had someone else to share the silence with.  Oh, they were probably strategically placed outside, making sure this zombie was completely alone, but right now, Allie wanted someone to talk to.  Instead, she stared at the watch, seconds crawling by, trying not to think about whom the hand had belonged to.  It was just another dead carcass, just meat, had never been a real person . . ..

Footsteps sounded by the door, and she jumped with fright, about dropped her gun.  She bent down lower, her face pressed to the cracked tile floor, and recognized Uncle Jay’s combat boots.  He paused at the doorway and sighed.

“Your back’s to the window, Allie,” he said, his boots stepping closer.  “Coulda got you from behind and you’d never known.”

“There’s someone covering my rear,” she replied.

“Won’t always be,” Uncle Jay said, leaning against the desk.  She popped her head above the desk, and looked up at his tall, lean figure.

“Where’s the zombie?” she asked, her hands tensing on the weapon again.  Uncle Jay’s shotgun was resting over one arm, relaxing with him.

“In the cafeteria, feasting on a rat the size of a terrier.”

Allie shuddered.  She’d killed plenty of those in her time—they’d been almost as bad as the zombies a few years ago—used them as target practice to hone her now deadly aim.

“Did you kill it?”

“The zombie?  Hell no, s’yours.”

“No, the rat.”

“Nope.  This’un got it by itself.  Quick bugger too—rat never had a chance.”  He paused, eyes searching the doorway.  “It’ll hear us and come soon.”

She looked away from the fallen door and looked at Uncle Jay, knew that he could go from nonchalant to badass in three point five seconds and would protect her and their clan if she hesitated.  Shifting her gun to wipe her sweaty palms on her jeans, she could not manage to make her heart calm down.

“Are you scared?” she asked, and then wondered why she’d asked it.  He looked down at her, his green eyes soft, a half-smile playing on his lips.

"Every time,” he replied, and she marveled that this man—part father, part trainer, fully indomitable—looked calm, but was shaking in his boots deep down.

Different footsteps sounded in the hall this time, a broken gait, as though this person moved, but not in the right way.  Slowly, it came closer, until Allie could hear the wheezing breath, smell the rotten stink of it.  Petrified, she raised her gun to her shoulder.  Uncle Jay stood, calm as ever, not readying his gun.  Allie’s fingers trembled, but she never lost her sights.

The zombie shambled into view, sniffing at the air like a cat waiting on tuna.  It turned its face toward them, and Allie was frozen, horrified at the red eyes and blood-spattered mouth, the gunk under the blackened nails, the twitching movements as it stopped and looked straight at them.  Allie couldn’t breathe.  HHHHHYHHer mother stared back at her; her ruddy mother, who had gone on a hunt for supplies less than two weeks ago.

“Mom?” Allie said, her voice trembling.  Bile rose in her throat at the stench of decaying gore, but she forced it down, trying to regain composure.  Never, in all her life, had she imagined that this would be her first kill.

“Not your mom anymore, kid,” Uncle Jay said, like he’d known all along.

The zombie hissed, its red mouth opening wide, and Allie choked back tears, trying with all her might to believe him.  This isn’t Mom, Mom is dead.

“If you don’t shoot, I will,” Uncle Jay said, as the zombie growled and lurched across the room toward them.

Allie took a deep breath, the seconds slowing, her thoughts whirling.  No, it would be right for her to do this, to be the one who killed the thing which had infected her mother.  But she knew that for years to come, her mother’s exploding head would haunt her nightmares.  Perhaps that was the price to pay for becoming an adult—but she still wished that she could be a child in her mother’s arms for just one more fleeting moment.

Uncle Jay was sighting his gun, the zombie was stretching out its arms to her, threatening disease and death.  Allie forced the tears away.  She sighted down the barrel, and, drawing in a steady breath, she fired.

994 words.  Also written for a creative writing workshop class in 2010. 

Froggy Business

The glittering fairy dust was suffocating in the cathedral.  In search of fresh air, Prince Stephan paced through the azaleas and dusk-blooming primroses of the garden.  Word would come soon that the ceremony was about to start and that his bride was awaiting his royal presence at the altar.  His bride . . . he knew that he did not want to go through with this.  It wasn’t just nerves or cold feet—he really couldn’t go through with this.  An arranged marriage wasn’t good enough for him!  Why, any of the princesses he’d rescued would have been more than happy to take his hand in marriage, but he hadn’t wanted to settle down.  Now, he was being forced to marry a simpering princess only to unite two nations and please thousands of people—commoners, whose happiness somehow counted more than his!

           

 He’d spent his life devoted to being as perfect an heir as possible; he’d gone on quests and slain dragons, rescued fair maidens in distress, and even assisted his father with planning a war!  Now, the old addled twit had decided to say hell with honor and glory on the battlefield, for who didn’t want peace?  Stephan made a noise of disgust. Certainly the princess was beautiful—he had only seen her once, but remembered lavender eyes and golden curls—but she was a princess, and a woman at that.  Her head was certainly full of vapid nonsense about embroidery and jewels.  He would be driven mad within a fortnight.

           

 The fountain bubbled and splooshed beside him as he stalked forwards and backwards, cursing his father, muttering about the princess, and decrying the ignorant masses.  Finally, he flopped down on the edge of the fountain, pouting in a way that no perfect prince ever would.  Who cared about uniting nations?  All he cared about was his own happiness.

 “You’re being silly,” said a voice by his elbow.  He nearly jumped out of his shiny boots, for he thought he’d been alone in the garden all this time.  But no one else was there except a peculiarly bright green frog sitting next to him on the fountain.

“Excuse me?” he said politely—proper etiquette had been drilled into him since birth, and that included manners for small amphibians like the one in front of him.

“You heard me, you’re being silly!” it croaked again, waving a webbed foot.  Imagine, being told off by a frog!  Stephan puffed his chest out indignantly.

 “You will not speak to me in such a manner,” he said.  The frog giggled.

 “You should be more polite to a talking frog!  I could be a fairy in disguise,” it laughed.  Stephan paused.  It had a point.  One must be careful, lest one become cursed by a fairy in a bad temper.

 “Very well, why am I being so silly?”

“Because you haven’t thought this through thoroughly,” it said, and hopped onto his knee.

“There is nothing I can do.  My father would never let me refuse now; it would be a grave insult to the princess.”

“Ah, but who says you have to refuse?” it looked up at him with glassy eyes and caught a fly with its tongue.  Stephan thought for a moment, wondering what on earth the frog meant.  Then he had a scathingly brilliant idea.  But where could he find a dragon for hire at this hour?  No, it had to be simpler than that.

“Oh my,” he said, as a diabolical grin split his face.  “That’s brilliant.  I’ll get married, like my father says, in order to attain the lands and riches of her people.”

“Good idea!” the frog croaked.

“Then, before she can drive me mad with her idle chatter, I’ll hire a dragon to carry her off!”

“And?”

“And I’ll take my jolly time rescuing her.”  Yes, what a perfect plot!  Then he could have all the women he wanted, while he “tracked the dragon down.”

The frog was silent for a moment, watching him with its large eyes, and then it leaped up and planted a slimy kiss on his lips.  Stephan recoiled and fell over into the fountain, while an explosion of glitter fell about him. When he was able to pull himself out, there stood Princess Jessabelle.

“What a fine and dandy thing to hear on my wedding day!” she said, hands on her hips.  “My Prince Charming wants nothing to do with me, and he’s going to have me carried off by dragons!”  Her shrewd violet eyes narrowed at his drenched figure, her face full of regal fury.

“I-I-I-” he stuttered.  For the first time in his life, he was dumbstruck.

“My fairy godmother turned me into a frog so that I could see your true intentions.  Imagine, wanting to use me for your own gain.  That’s the most selfish thing I’ve ever heard.”  She swept her train into her hand.  “I hope you realize, this means war.” Her violet eyes flashed as she stalked away.

“Wait!” he called, sloshing out of the fountain and squishing across the grass to her.  She turned to him, her lips pressed together, the perfect picture of rage—but too perfect.  He took her hand, his heart thudding in his ears, and he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he would see this marriage through—she was an amazing asset that he couldn’t lose.  “I’m sorry,” he said, spitting out a word he’d never said.  “Perhaps I was a bit too hasty.”

She looked up at him through her long eyelashes, and smiled coyly.  “Touch me again,” she said sweetly, pulling her hand away, “and it will be the last thing that you’ll ever do.”

Stephan pulled her to him and kissed her, hard, and was surprised that she returned it.  They had more in common than he realized; both were selfish, spoiled, and very eager for war.  Perhaps they’d make a powerful duo after all.

998 words.  Written for a class back in 2010.

Okay, so this is pretty terrible....