I came up with this week's prompt while scraping wallpaper paste. Who doesn't love that? At least I got these wonderful entries to show for it. :) Thank you to each one who entered CFF. I can't promise 100% blindness, but I do my best to keep the names off the entries as I read. I hope you'll come back on Saturday for Ronel's prompt.
Sam Malkowski with Growing Pains
What a fresh direction to take the prompt. The muted terror is nice, as are the vivid details of the fates of these two hikers. My only regret is that he didn't just stay with her in the end. He was doomed anyway.
TipTim with Muck
Your well-crafted mundanity is a great set-up for the appearance of the flesh-eating blob. (LOVE the flesh-eating blob... it's been a while, what with zombies taking the spotlight and all...) The idea of something nefarious travelling behind my back is delightfully unnerving. The chewing gum simile and the details that solidified this world also made it a stand-out.
Bill Engleson with A Day or Two Before the End of The World-Or, at Least, Our Neighbourhood-Something Like That, Anyways, But Who Knows as CNN is Toast
Holy long titles, Batman. What I appreciated about our winning post was the political nod, the humor in apocalypse (not easy to pull off), and the personality of this post. The narrator's voice is strong and unique, eccentric. I'm a sucker for a great image and "clutching her favorite shotgun as if it was a skinny but always reliable lover" was my favorite of the day.
A Day or Two Before the End of The World-Or, at Least, Our Neighbourhood-Something Like That, Anyways, But Who Knows as CNN is Toast
“Scrape that off before you…”
“Track in the mud? Seriously, Hon, that’s what you are worried about?”
My Megikins stands in the doorway, a little wild-eyed, ferociously female, strong, sensual, MAYBE needing a bath...we’ve been without water for weeks…, but still, thank goodness for perfume…and clutching her favourite shotgun as if it was a skinny but always reliable lover.
Meg has always been one tough cookie, even before the Donald J. Trump Zombies went apeshit.
“Look at your boots, Ralphie. That’s not mud. Mud I could live with…”
So, as directed, I look. Down. Briefly, I remember when I bought my Magnum Stealth Force 8.0 Wide-Width Combat Boots at Crazy Clark Wallenski’s War Surplus Emporium back in the day. My big fat feet have never been happier. The last word in comfort.
Now, though, the glow is off my fine boots. The shine, the spit and polished love I have given them is long gone, a mucky reminder of distant times.
“If I’m not mistaken, Ralphie, that glop on your footwear is brains, blood, and shards of human flesh. And you want to track Zombie gunk into MY house?”
Do I feel like a complete trailer park turkey? Meg’s always been a cleanoholic. I mean that in the best way. Still, we are smack dab in the middle of an apocalypse. The Undead are on a tear trying to make sure their guy stays in the White House. You’d think she would make allowances for a little stray boot-slime. I have been up half the night, hunting them down, engaging in serious bloodshed. Doing my bit.
But she’s right.
“Maybe I’ll just take them off, Sweetie. That be okay?”
“Of course, you big lug. Pucker up.”
We smooch and make up.
My worlds just become a little brighter.
See you next Saturday!