by Lisa McCourt Hollar
Amy's emaciated figure haunts my dreams. I wake, the sound of my own screams echoing in my ears. Shaking off the last veil of sleep, I listen for indication I was heard and am rewarded with the sound of the dead dragging their broken limbs across my shelter. Did they hear me? Until now, it has been miraculous I haven't been found.
Listening as monsters stomp across what I expect to become my grave, my fingers reach for the cancer I have smoked since I was fifteen. Amy always said the tar would kill me. I laugh at the irony.
Word Count: 100
This is my entry for Tracey Hansen's Humpday Challenge, which can be found at http://www.traceyhansen.com
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