Free fiction! “Traction,” a drabble

Tires squeal across cool pavement. It’s been raining, and cars rush around the bend too quickly to notice the dented guardrail.

Below, James scrabbles for purchase, a piece of metal in his side, big as his fist. No arteries severed, no organs shredded, but he’s bleeding out.

One foot up, two feet back. Mud slicks the incline. He tries to climb, slides on down again, finally losing grip entirely. He tumbles and lands hard against the wreck of his car.

James gasps, clutching his side. Brakes screech. A car leaps the rail. He screams as headlights plummet right toward him.

***

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Free fiction! “Not a Drop to Drink,” an apocalyptic drabble

Not a Drop to Drink

Weatherman said it’d be muggy out. Talk about understatement. Humidity hit 100% by 8 AM and kept rising, breaking all records and instruments. Saturation weighed down the phone lines, cutting off communication. Cars couldn’t get traction to move; those already on the road slid right off.

Didn’t take long for people to drown. Every breath came with more water than usable oxygen, and by that evening, those who died outside bloated, as if found face down in a river.

Cameron huddled inside his house. He’d known this would happen. Six dehumidifiers barely kept him dry.

Then the power went out.

***

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