And I’m up at wtf-is-wrong-with-me o’clock. I did slept. But then bladder screamed. And stomach screamed. And I hit up the bathroom and the kitchen. I’m awake right now. I won’t be in a few hours.
But being awake means I can take on the next prompt. (And my novels in my head are weighing options. I’ll have something to show for this writing practice.)
There is nothing like the smell of a ripe apple.
Nothing like biting into its crisp flesh every fall as if my favorite pastime. Actually… It may be my favorite pastime. Every year, I’d go pick fresh apples and make everything from homemade cider to apple pie.
Reminiscing as if a sweet reminder. Times change. Life moves on.
I reach out and rub an apple leaf between my fingers. We followed them to this orchard.
I can’t be distracted by my memories. I shake it off and lift my rifle back into position. The only way to survive anymore is to shoot first. Once the dust settles, I’ll get my chance to eat an apple again.
This would classify as fiction. I was thinking zombies, but the enemy isn’t described, so it turned into a war happening.