Category Archives: Apocalypse Prose Story

Apocalyptic Partner In Crime

Her hands, skin frayed at the tips
Arms red with heat and wear
As she stands in a humid,
Stench filled room
Surrounded by decaying,
Dirt encrusted walls.
Concrete coloured ooze slips past
A lid on a long browned stove top pot.
Waiting too long
Wanting too long
For the wish that he lives,
Stuck here instead
With a burly ogre sized cook
Wedging legs of bloodied beasts
Between hairy, sweaty pits
And ham fisted palms.
Waiting, watching, wishing.
With a sudden grunt and groan of a car
from the familiar moan of a well oiled engine,
She stares out the grimy window
To spot the blue of his hair
Catching back light in the driver seat.
Dropping her salt encrusted apron
She slips out silently
Through the warped,
Wrecked hinged door
To the safety of an unknown.
After the not knowing,
It’s all or nothing now,
In for a penny in for pound.
Lets do the damage
Not the bidding
Anymore
Let’s win the war

Little Big Love

You’ve got a hole through your heart
I have a get away car
You’ve got a smile that could break walls
I have a bulletproof mouth
Let’s run rings around the criminals
And steal all of their money
(Those who beat us down)
Because if it’s not me and you
Then we are better off bleeding
Into a river
Feeding the earth.
I’d rather help
Than hinder
And I’d rather help you,
C’mon my little bandit
Let’s run.

Wasteland Apocalypse of the Future

His dirty, clay knotted, blue hair
Hung drenched in his own sweat
As he stared out into the neon flashed,
Black lucid backdrop of the night.
His adrenaline pushed him forward
Along with his ready car’s roar,
The guns at his hips,
And the belief that the only thing to face
Was his very own worst nightmare,
The only thing to fear
Was himself,
And the only thing able to change the present
Was a dream three years past,
Left buried with his body,
Two keys, a silver handgun and revenge.
They left him to rot,
But he rose, scratching, to fight again.
It was time to claim the past
By saving the future
From its own worst enemy
It’s maker
It’s father
It’s self.