Six Sentence Story: Island
A Writing prompt by: GirlieOnTheEdge
Last time on The Wasteland: Train
“So,” Shay finally breaks the silence of the RV, “where are we heading, exactly?”
“The colony,” Sam says from the couch near the front where she could watch the road. “It’s like an island of peace and calm within the shit storm sea that swells in every city; basically a gated community a few miles off the freeway, through some hills, and away from anything civilized.”
“Is it really that safe?”
“Yeah,” Samantha nods, “it’s been there for a few years now with no major incidents; if Rio had joined me when I left-“ she stopped, not needing to finish her thought to get her point across.
“Yeah,” Shay mutters, lowering his head to stare at his shoes, “I should have listened.”
Six Sentence Story: Method
“That’s a lot of remnants,” Sam says as she rises from her seat and peers out the front window at the swarm blocking the streets.
“Sure is,” says the man in fatigues, who had since introduced himself as Jim, “but don’t worry, we have a method to dealing with impassible swarms.” As he spoke, Jim rose and moved toward the back of the RV where he disappeared into the back room for a minute, returning with a small box. He sets the box on the table and turns it so the latch faces Shay; “Care to do the honors?”
“Uh, sure,” Shay reaches out and flicks the latch, lifting the box lid to reveal a red velvet interior with several hand grenades, spray-painted gold, nestled within.
“Holy… Hand grenade,” Shay reads the cover of the small, handwritten booklet set beside the grenades then glances up at Jim who stares back down at him with a large anticipatory grin; Shay frowns, looks back at the golden holy hand grenades, then back at Jim, before saying; “is there more – I don’t get it?”
Six Sentence Story: Handle
When Jim finished his eight minute rant about ‘the uncultured youth of today,’ he grabbed one of the golden hand grenades and climbed through the escape hatch in the ceiling, muttering about how he would handle it himself.
“I really don’t understand what a large snake has to do with any of this,” Shay finally said, turning to Sam, “or a small white rabbit.”
“It’s a nerd thing, I think,” Sam replied.
An explosion rocked the RV and was quickly followed by cursing as Jim scrambled back into the Van.
“It caught the grenade and threw it back,” Jim yelled as he stepped off the ladder and turned around; he hesitated as every occupant in the RV gasped and stared at him.
Jim raised his brow, or would have if his hair weren’t melted against his scalp with one eyebrow missing and half his face burnt red and covered in blood, and muttered; “is it bad?”
Been busy; just bought a van for the purpose of converting to a camper, so that’s yet another distraction away from writing.
Maybe, though, I can write about the conversion. Best of both worlds, right?