I write... occasionally it's good.
The Warm Place
The approaching thunder warned us of the coming apocalypse. Long shadows cast across the mountains of a rugged range. Peaks worn and weathered by the stains of time. Echoes of past memories, imprinted through the ever-changing landscape. Tents of our forefathers, falling down around our ears.
Sand (III) Once more into the sand
I grip my knees until the bones creak. Deep heaving breaths, trying to calm down. Bad idea. I cough and spit granules of sand spitefully back onto the ground, adding my precious water to replenish the torched oasis, can’t wash the horror away. Who would murder a whole village?
Sand (II) Still Sanding
He flips display lenses down over his goggles, a praying mantis, and adjusts his one-handed claw grip on the controller. Schmidt stands next to him, covering with his rifle. The high-pitched whine of tiny electric motors pierce through the wind whipping against our ears as the drone takes flight.
Life was good, Jack thought, as he stepped through the hatch of the bar, and out into the kaleidoscopic light of the promenade. Above him, the neon signs were flashing, advertising the stations' entertainment, adding to the dull buzzing in his head. “GIRLS, BOYS, THRILLS!”, they proudly exclaim in hot-pinks
The banshee shrieks of the beast above tore Rick from his feverish nightmares, reality snapping into focus as a finger of dread touched his heart; what new phantasms erupted into this wretched hell? The leathery flapping wings pushed down the stagnant, fetid breath of the creature. Instinctively, he rolled back