Writing Prompts Week 8: A Story Set During a War

The bombs fall nearly every day. Strange soldiers in dark uniforms sweep the streets with their tanks and vicious dogs, searching for survivors. Every morning and every evening right before it gets dark.

They’re not so scary.

The soldiers only come during the day. I can see them. The monsters come at night.

They were people once, before they died. Souls of the dead, fed on hatred and violence until they gained a corporeal form, twisted and horrific. None of them look the same, except for those glowing red eyes. They chase me and that’s all I can see.

The monsters hate the light. They chased me into a burning building once. I found a concrete niche that I’d squeezed myself into. They couldn’t get me because of the firelight, but it was so hot. Others were chased there too. They didn’t make it.

I don’t know why I’m still here. Food is scarce. I get my water from the rain and puddles, but it’s poisonous. Every day I’m sick. The medicine’s all gone.

I’m giving myself up to the soldiers today. I’m too tired to fight anymore.


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