Story by Glen
Mal checked outside the door once again.
Nothing. The grass and brush were dead and the trees, if not dead, were dying. The bird carcass was still there, untouched.
He shut the door and relocked it, setting the chain, too.
It seemed like only minutes after he sat down in the comfy chair that it happened again.
The knob rattled and tried to turn.
Mal did not stir. Instead, he muttered, “I thought that there was nothing left alive out there . . .”
The rattling stopped. An equally soft voice replied, “If it helps any, you are right.”
It’s three weeks late posting because I’m an idiot. I scheduled it for the wrong month and didn’t notice until Glen prompted me. Doh. Sorry, man.