Storygram #72
The engine hummed louder as he pushed the pedal to the floor. He was towing a sea of police cars and unmarked government vehicles behind him, and the helicopter following him on the left was shining its spotlight onto his SUV.
Storygram #71
He had been so focused on not having a heart attack that rain clouds had slipped over him undetected. His grandson thought they were running from the rain, but he knew they wouldn’t make it.
Storygram #70
Panicking, he pleaded with his ally, the light, to stay with him as it flickered several times. And there was darkness. He shook it and banged it against his palm. Nothing.
Storygram #69
The path was coated in mud, making it difficult for him to run. He could hear the growling of their ATVs closing in on him from behind. He didn’t care if they caught him, just as long as he reached the control room under the tower first.
Storygram #68
She set the canned goods down on the kitchen counter. “Would you like for me to tell your guest to come back another time?” Her heart began racing as her body froze. She shouldn’t have a guest.
Storygram #67
So many people told him it was time to quit playing with toys, but his obsession outgrew their concern. He couldn’t help it. He liked his tiny worlds better than he liked the world that engulfed them.
Storygram #66
He never missed a clear night. Pulling on a light jacket and strapping his telescope to his back, he set out for the old smoke stack. They had sealed the top off years ago—too many jumpers thought of it as a tunnel to freedom.
Storygram #65
Even if you dared to cross the barriers to the outskirts of the city, you’d never get through the security of the inner wall. There was only one possible way in.
Storygram #64
Playing my flute is the only way I have to pass the time out there. Something feels wrong about the day. And the pasture seems too quiet.
Storygram #63
I approach the front of the building. They told me to bring nothing and to leave my car by the road. As I step onto a metal plate in front of the left door, a slot opens in the wall and a panel presents itself.
Storygram #62
The dingy 47th Street alley was home. She didn’t have a house or a car or even a refrigerator, but she had a roof and three walls that formed a cozy nook. She was content.
Storygram #61
They just sauntered up to the fence. They deployed no charm to coerce a following but waited, knowing their offer spoke for itself. “Should we go with them?”
Storygram #60
He sat on his living room couch, watching the news. He had tried so hard to convince them that he could save millions of lives, but they wouldn’t listen.
Storygram #59
They just started falling from the sky. Millions of them. Some thought it was due to climate change we had caused. Others thought it signaled the end of the world.
Storygram #58
I’ve never seen them before. The old stories were believable enough. Once they contracted the virus, they would lose individuality and revert to a primal state.
Storygram #57
It took everything I had to get the ticket. Not money, of course. The last plane allowed to transport passengers out of the country couldn’t be bought with something as invaluable as money.
Storygram #56
She stumbled up to the building, drifting in and out of consciousness. The doors rattled as she tugged on them, but her efforts were useless. It was after hours, and the building was locked down.
Storygram #55
He draws his sword so quickly that the tip nicks my chin before I even have time to flinch. I draw my sword, blocking his downward swing, and kick him away. He laughs that hideous maniacal laughter of his.
Storygram #54
At first sight of the water, he slid off his horse and collapsed by the sparkling stream. Scooping it into his hands, he brought it to his mouth and devoured every drop from his palms.
Storygram #53
From the echo of the stairwell to the quiet of the abandoned floor was like going from a concert hall to a funeral home. It was appropriate. At the south side windows, he set a metal case on the ground and began working.