The knife flies past before her body can even muster a flinch. The figure is faceless no more; splattered green blood illuminates the deformed features of an Olifat. Mischievous imitators.
“Lucky.” A recognisably cocky voice reaches out from the casino’s shadows behind her.
She watches as a tall man with long, blackened hair strides confidently into the vault.
“Pass me that, would you.”
She reaches down and rips the knife from the Olifat’s neck.
“How the hell did you…” Her eyes tighten, puzzlement etches across her face.
He slides the knife away and throws her a knowing glare. “Mum…and she’s pissed.”
A second entry into my “Fallout” universe (if it can be called as such after only two entries!). Again, this was originally entered into Lily Childs’ Friday Prediction.
I feel like playing with the 100 word stories a bit while I explore this world. I hope that’s ok? I think it will help me decide what I like/dislike, what works/does not work etc, before I expand into larger stories. As a “newbie”, I don’t want to rush in and bore/disappoint you all.
Anyway, have at it..
She takes only a drop. Conserving the contents of the vial is critical. She allows herself a moment to rest, wary that the war-weary forest now offers little protection.
For a moment, silence. Nothing but gentle breeze and soft breath. Like the old days.
To her right, a small hare bolts through ash, kicking up a dusty reminder of the Final Day. Its unknowingly helpful distraction buys her a few valuable seconds.
They hunt, they kill, they crucify. The Bishop’s warnings return to her consciousness.
She forces a deep breath.
They can’t be allowed to find me.
The following story was originally written for Lily Childs’ Friday Prediction. I’m very happy to say that, somehow or another, it won. Yay!
Anyway, here it is:
The nameless woman sweeps her way across the floor. Charred echoes of the old world litter her path. Chips, dice, cards: all are trampled or brushed aside. She moves quickly, a silent shadow amongst the ash. The penalty for being caught does not bear thinking about.
Slipping through the pre-war machines, she soon reaches her destination. A faceless figure crouches upon his workstation.
“They can never be allowed to find me.” Her words echo around the steel vault.
“Aye. But ’tis a shame to mangle…such a vision.”
An overburdened coin purse lands at his feet.