He had red stains beneath his fingernails, jeans torn in battle against the brambles, a makeshift basket in his fingers. “I picked these for you,” he announced, proud of his foraging. “I hope you like raspberries.”
I don’t, but I could never tell him that, not after he had awoken me with this unexpected cornucopia. All I could do was try to smile as false lightning lit the skies.
“Don’t you know by now how dangerous it is out there?” He flinched away from my anger as I tried to reconcile my love for him with a swelling, impotent fury. Damning my stupidity, damning myself for bringing an innocent into this world.
This world of the damned we have forged.
I pulled him back into the rubble, sheltering my son from fires not yet born.
The boom of thunder, a sudden whitewashing of the world.
The bombers have arrived.
This is my first ever story for Friday Fictioneers, using this photo prompt:
Apparently they have a great crowd of editors and writers over there, and naturally criticism is welcomed heartily. The reason why I post online is to get feedback that I wouldn’t usually receive. I was put onto Friday Fictioneers through Clever Old Owl‘s blog, someone I enjoy reading immensely, so while you’re here you should probably go and check him out too.