In the End

Another selection from the Drabble archive. Enjoy.


By Donna L. Greenwood

“When they drop the bomb, there’ll be nothing left worth surviving for,” he said.

And then they dropped the bomb.

I couldn’t bring myself to gobble up the pills or drink the vodka he had provided. He had no such trouble. Halfway through the vodka, he told me a joke about a cross-eyed teacher who couldn’t control her pupils. I didn’t laugh; I just watched him die. I breathed and drank water. His flesh began to turn to moisture.

I climbed out of the hole he had dug, surveyed the scorched earth and went in search of other betrayed women

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