A little girl dancing in the rain. The rain comes down, the girls sees it, she runs out to play. She's five, maybe six years old at most. And she sings.
"Ring around the Rosie..."
Across the street, in a home shared with a corpse, I hold her back as she yells for the little girl to Get out, Get out, Get out of the rain!
"Pockets full of Posies..."
Such a common sight: a child dancing in the rain.
"Ashes..."
Such a horrifying sight, the things the rain does.
"Ashes..."
When the screams begin, I pull her against me and hold her head against my chest. I turn away, but I've seen what happens when people don't run from the rain.
The boiling, blistering skin.
The little girl is screaming, screaming, and I hear another someone run out to see what's wrong, a man, and then they're both screaming and I hold her tighter and close my eyes and wait for the sounds to end.
The black, bloody holes where the eyes used to be.
In my arms, she shakes, but she doesn't cry.
A gurgling noise, and another, and the screaming ceases, and still we hold each other, and we shake, but neither of us cry.
And when the rain stops, a cry does emerge; that of an anguished mother. The gunshot that follows makes an explosive noise, and I let her go and she looks down at the bloodstained floor.
And she whispers, Not all fall down.
YOU ARE READING
When the World Ends
Science FictionThe world ended in ash. The two that walk through the rubble of their world experience both the best and the worst of what humanity has become--when the world ends.
