This is awesome.
Flash434: Romance Isn't Dead.
Gets out of work just in time to jump the last bus home from the city centre, limbs aching, eyes strained and vowing that if the project wasn't so close to completion there's no way in hell she'd be burning the midnight oil seven days a week.
Deposits her fare and pockets her spectacles (prescription long out of date), they're aggravating her migraine. She's been staring into the whites of humanities eyes too long today – this claustrophobic, tin-canned snapshot of club kids and drunks would likely tip her over the edge...she doesn't need to see.
Guides herself down the aisle, slides into the first seat that isn't radiating body heat.
There's a couple sat in front of her. Their voices mingle, an acoustic convergence, so that even without clear vision she knows their heads are pressed tightly together.
She guesses they must be young. In love.
Lets it wash over her, the subdued hum of inebriated banter, savoring the forty minutes per day where she's under no orders to think. Think harder. Think about what you've done.
She becomes aware of a lull in conversation, a pregnant pause, the next voice she hears is affectionately probing, a little unsure.
“Babes, hypothetically, if there was a zombie uprising and I was bitten...what would you do?” Delivered giggling, biting back sincerity like any good woman.
She waits. Expectantly. Blanket of indistinguishable noise removed it's all she can do.
“Well,” he replies “first off I'd dose you up on plenty of medication, take you back to our flat and put you to bed. As you drift off I'd remind you how much I love you, kiss your forehead...that way I did when we first met...then I'd cave your fucking skull in.”
Six months later when the virus strikes she finds herself traveling that same stretch of road. Doctor and mother of the hell outside the armored vehicles and military escort.
The hospital was the first part of the city to be secured, big fences and burly men with guns and ammo enough to stay the course
A noise to her left catches her attention. There's another one at the gates. Female this time, staring vacantly, soaked in blood.
It's holding something to it's chest, cradling it like a child and through the scope on her rifle she can make out a human arm.
Their hands are entwined.
She lines up to take the shot, remembers that night on the bus.
“Never leave a man to do a woman's job”.
Closes her eyes, pulls the trigger. She doesn't need to see.