The coffee shop at the corner under the trains was open. The owner was protected and so were they. The neighborhood still looked civilized, but the troubles had begun.
One year later a quarter of the world’s population died, but it could have been more. No one knew for sure. Official truth was passed on by word of mouth and doubted as soon as it was heard. No one doubted the bodies in the streets.
An unexpected smartening raced through the population like the cleansing fire of revival as the war, the big one this time, began.
Rochelle Wisoff-Fields offers the photo below by Ted Strutz for this week’s prompt for Friday Fictioneers.
Whispers and Echoes recently published a 100-word story of mine called Spotting the Heretic. I am grateful to the editor, Sammi Cox, for selecting it. Submissions to this online journal are currently open.