The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!
Building a Wall
by Rie Sheridan Rose
It’s almost finished now. My wall. I’ve been building it since the famine hit—no, wait. I started before that. The first bones were laid when the “plague” began. Well, some called it a plague. It was really not so bad. Yes, a lot of people died, but they were the ones who wouldn’t listen. They refused to take any precautions. They continued to be exactly as they were—so they had to be taught a lesson, of course. There didn’t seem to be any point in wasting all that material. My freezer is full, for example, and I have no shortage of vellum for my journals. And the bones…the bones are great for building with.
Honestly, I didn’t know what to do with them at first. I was just trying to keep things neat, so they wouldn’t be scattered all over the backyard. So I was stacking them…in the corner at first. But they fit together so nicely, that it got me thinking. Why not? After all, I had plenty. There was absolutely no end to the idiots that needed culling. I decided to enclose the whole yard.
Of course, then the plague was over. I think it was just starved out as all the fools died off. But the people weren’t the only things that died. Without farmers and herdsmen, the crops never got harvested, and the livestock perished…so that’s when the famine hit. And everyone who was left began to die. Starved out mostly. Nothing to me, anyway. I did buy a couple more freezers…
Now, the wall is almost finished. Once I lay that last bit to close off the gap, I’ll live impervious here behind my wall. No one will ever call me weird again. No one will ever make fun of me. No one will ever see me again.
Unless I get bored. Or want an extension…
Fiction © Copyright Rie Sheridan Rose
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com
More from Author Rie Sheridan Rose:
Overheard in Hell:
Poems exploring hell and damnation. Tales of sorrow, vengeance, betrayal, and redemption. Ghosts, ghouls, and demons stalk these pages. Don’t read in a lonely house…in a darkened room by a single candle…
…unless you like the touch of an icy finger up your spine.
This is great – love the narrator’s voice and the little touch about vellum her their journals – genius.
A terrific story, with just the right touch of macabre.