“Never let it be said that the apocalypse wasn’t beautiful.”
Harry Washington, age 8 and a half, started to wonder what his mom’s hair would look like in zero gravity.
Josh put down his beer, distantly aware that it was somehow to blame for the conversation he was having.
Deep down I know it’s a lie. I’m just a bit ashamed to admit it sometimes.
“It comes to all of us,” he thought, “at one time or another.” He then put a cigarette in his mouth, and turned to start walking.
While his personality was kind and easy-going, the one prevailing opinion of him, was that he was different.
His life had been hard and he’d become hard as a result, and so was infinitely unprepared for Debbie.
The Warrior decided that he had, perhaps, been walking for too long and had begun to stray not only from the path, but from his sanity.
She’d broken his heart one too many times and now, like Humpty Dumpty, there was no putting it back together again.
Ingmar had no idea what to do the day the world locked down.