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    Ashes of Hope: A Post Apocalyptic Dark Fantasy Short Story
    Ashes of Hope: A Post Apocalyptic Dark Fantasy Short Story
    Ashes of Hope: A Post Apocalyptic Dark Fantasy Short Story
    Ebook46 pages45 minutes

    Ashes of Hope: A Post Apocalyptic Dark Fantasy Short Story

    By Lydia Sherrer

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    About this ebook

    When a monster saves you from other monsters, are you any better off?

    Ash chokes the sky and my life as I knew it is long gone. Nuclear war left our planet a scarred dead husk, and those of us left fight tooth and nail to survive. There is hardly anything left to eat, except each other.

    The lucky ones die quickly.

    I've had a different kind of luck, but the bargain I made to stay alive is slowly killing me. The only question is, will I survive long enough for my bargain to save me? Or will all my hope turn to ash?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherChenoweth Press
    Release dateOct 14, 2019
    ISBN9781950267996
    Ashes of Hope: A Post Apocalyptic Dark Fantasy Short Story

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      Book preview

      Ashes of Hope - Lydia Sherrer

      Ashes of Hope

      Ashes of Hope

      A Post Apocalyptic Dark Fantasy Short Story

      Lydia Sherrer

      Chenoweth Press

      Contents

      Ashes of Hope

      Preview of Love, Lies, and Hocus Pocus: Beginnings

      Afterword

      Also by Lydia Sherrer

      Acknowledgments

      About the Author

      To the what ifs that we ponder with masochistic obsession

      and hope desperately will never come to pass.

      Ashes of Hope

      The ash feels soft on my cheek as it falls. The flakes catch in my hair and pile on the tops of my shoulders and backpack, but I don’t bother brushing them away; I’m already so dirty it doesn’t matter. Hunger makes my knees weak and my feet drag as I take one weary step after another. I can barely remember a time when I wasn’t starving or cold. It had to have been before the war, but I’ve lost count of the days since then.

      I close my eyes for a moment, trying to pretend the flakes brushing my face are snow. The nuclear explosions that started, and ended, the war put so much ash and smoke in the air that the sky actually disappeared. With the sun obscured, temperatures dropped. The plants died, then the animals. No more seasons. No more rain or snow, just ash. The rhythms of life are gone. All that’s left is this never-ending, cold, gray hell.

      The sharp edges of canned goods poke my spine through the threadbare backpack. Their heavy weight pulls against the supporting strap tied across my chest. The strap would flatten my breasts, if they weren’t already so sunken after endless walking and little food. But I’m all skin and bone. Shifting the pack doesn’t ease the pain, so I give up and keep walking. Since the war, anyone not killed in the explosions or poisoned by radiation has been slowly starving. Canned food is all that’s left, so I’ll carry it no matter the pain.

      Shivering, I pull my tattered coat closer. Everything I love has been turned to ash, and that tiny bit of warmth is the only comfort I have. All else is gone: governments toppled, cities vaporized, cultures extinct. Everything that was good or beautiful died in the wake of the war, including our humanity. The only thing left is survival, though some days I wonder if it’s worth it. Whatever comes after can’t be worse than this lifeless horror. But instinct drives me on.

      I stumble suddenly, catching my foot on the cracked asphalt of the road. I start to fall and have a flash of panic, afraid I’ll break one of my fragile, nutrition-starved bones. But I don’t hit the ground. A cold, spidery hand appears and catches me by the elbow, steadying me with a strong yet gentle grip. Not looking at the hand’s owner, I keep walking with my eyes downcast and soon sink back into my stupor. I know he’ll keep watch. All I have to do is put one foot in front of the other.

      The hand belongs to my master. My owner. If I were an optimist I’d call him a partner, a traveling companion, or maybe a caretaker. On a good day, I might even admit he was my savior. But good days don’t happen anymore, so mostly he’s just my master.

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