Don't Fear The Reaper

Jack wanders into the local for a pint at the end of his evening walk.

“Damn!”

He’d forgotten it was that time of the year.

There’s fat Marge dressed as a witch, and in walks Brad, the estate agent, now a skeleton.

Jack orders lemonade and watches the party grow louder. The pub band, three ghosts and a ghoul, rock them into a frenzy.

Unable to bear the drunken hysteria anymore, he walks out, sober, into the chill of the night.

He glances back through the pub window at the carnival of fools, none of whom will escape the Reaper.

From Guest Contributor Ian Fletcher

Double Down

Dave peered from his bunker across the smoldering horizon. He refused to cry.

That charred skeleton of masonry and rebar had once been home. People he knew had died in those streets, now nothing more than corpses and ruin.

After the initial wave of destruction came the pestilence and blight. The rotting skin and miracle pleas suggested a biblical retribution was at hand. The metaphor was on everyone's lips, but Dave clamored against it. He blamed the whining snowflakes who refused to accept they had lost.

Dave remained certain. This outcome was still better than if she had been elected.