Three more dark drabbles today. Enjoy.
What They Don’t Tell You
Funny fact about the apocalypse, the worst thing is not the fear, the cold dread, or the acceptance. They’re awful, but those emotions come in waves. The worst thing is the miserable silence. The hush that falls over everything like a blanket of ashes. No one talks, laughs, even smiles. Words come in whispers, if they come at all. More often the only noise is muffled sobbing. All the anger is gone, the joy is dead, swallowed by the inevitable.
The world is full of breathing ghosts, living on borrowed time.
We all exist in limbo, waiting for the end…
Alone
Her fingers trembled as she held the match to the wick, lighting the dim room in radiance. Blowing out the match, she replaced the glass and carried the kerosene lamp to the kitchen where she prepared a meager meal to eat, staring at the empty chair across the table.
A hollow ache consumed her, swallowing her world in pain. Her life existed of unfulfilled wishes; she wanted to see his face, hear his laughter again.
Most of all she wished she knew if he was dead or alive.
Wished she knew what happened to those the government erased from existence.
Not My Problem
I heard the screams upstairs and stayed silent.
I listened to the sobs upstairs and remained quiet.
Most evenings it happened, the people living in the apartment above me, their messy lives intruding in unsettling ways. But I didn’t say a word.
Didn’t get involved.
Didn’t make eye contact.
Ignored the problem. It wasn’t mine, after all.
This sort of thing happened all the time. Kept my distance.
I heard the gunshots upstairs and didn’t call the police.
Yet, I watched them take her body away, take him away in handcuffs.
The nights are quieter now.
The silence is deafening.
Be Afraid of the Dark 
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