Flash Fiction

An asp would be quite welcome at this point. Another high whine sounded overhead and ended in the deafening explosion she'd try to come to expect. The booms always made her jump--whether driven by force or fear, it was hard to tell. There was a hole in the corner where something had taken out both the roof and the ceiling. The sun was hidden by either smoke or clouds. Only a cold grey rain could make this any worse.

She was hiding in the bathtub like she used to do when tornados came. It was a stupid place, not only because of the hole in the roof and not being underground, but also because she knew that her brother had put the munitions in the bathroom closet. She knew there was a case of hand grenades. If one of those shells hit, there would be such a show. But she wouldn't be alive to see it.

How had it come to this? She tried to run her fingers through her hair, but they got stuck in the tangles and dust, so she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand instead and then hunkered down to wait till the distant whine became full blown and exploded. There simply wasn't enough time between them to search for a better place to die.

"Cleopatra. Queen of Denial." She wished her brother's voice was real and not some mockery playing over and over again in her mind. Cleo never dreamed it would be possible for things to get this bad.

"They've gotten that bad everywhere else on the earth. We're not immune, you know." He spoke to her clearly, his head cocked to the side, grinning with half a mouth like he did when he had to be serious for a moment.

But there had been all the promises. She'd believed them instead of her brother because she didn't want to have to think about a future that included what was happening to her now.

So she forced her mind into the future. Into wandering the streets with her dust-gray tangled hair, searching, competing for something to eat. She imagined stepping thought the broken plate-glass window of the grocery store and filling her pockets with bread rolls. Then she'd be foolish enough to share. How could one refuse the request of a starving child?

Maybe it would be best to start pulling pins....

-----
From Writer's Idea Bank by Mode Room Press. It's a gadget on my Google home page that generates random story ideas.

Describe Cleopatra in her bathroom
with a case of hand grenades.
The sky drizzles a cold grey rain;
the old wench stuffs her pockets with bread rolls,
while all the children are starving.