Collecting shells for my scrapbook was something I loved to do. Every morning I would travel down to the white sands of my personal beach. The beach I bought back in 2006. I was amazed that I could pull it off at only thirty-one years old. There were rumors spread around about my appearance with an older man and how that may have contributed to my young success. I could never get involved in such shady dealings. It was not in my character.
I let them talk for a while. I let them have their fun. It was also not in my character to get so worked up over things that I couldn't help. I did hear the occasional whisper, but after a while things got quiet. Real quiet. It was as if people's mouths were clocked out and their minds suddenly clicked off.
That's when it suddenly hit me. A sick feeling deep in my gut. An eerie feeling crept up my legs, traveling to my shoulders and resting at the top of my spine. The hairs on my neck stood alert like a youthful deer at the snap of a small twig. They weren't talking because they couldn't there was no one alive to talk. I slowly crept up to the window and peered out. What was once beautiful, white sand was replaced with black, cloudy ash. The sky was red. Blood red. How had I not noticed before? It was clear as glass. There were corpses spread out everywhere. Nameless. Faceless. A hand on my shoulder shook me out of my trance. Cold, calloused hands. The grip became tighter and the pain tore through my soul.
And that was the moment I regretted making that deal.
YOU ARE READING
100 SHORT STORIES
Short Story{Mixed Genres} All stories are written by me and I reserve all rights to the book. Enjoy!
