The alleyway was damp and narrow. Slivers of sunlight filtered through drab stone buildings, creating shadowy alcoves, concealing the clandestine dealings of thieves and cutthroats.
How much can change in sixty seconds? An idea. A thought. A text received. A text answered. A life can end. A life can begin. A proposal – the beginning of a lifetime together. Perhaps the apocalypse could happen in sixty seconds.
I took a course at uni entitled Writing Apocalypse: Histories and Speculation. Our first assignment was to write a 500 word piece with the theme of ‘apocalypse’ inspired by, or in response to, our course readings and tutorial discussions. We were allowed to interpret the word ‘apocalypse’ rather broadly. This is my piece as it was submitted. Next week, I will re-post this piece incorporating the changes that were suggested by my marker. I recieved 76% for this assessment, but I personally feel like I should have scored much lower because I failed to convey to my marker that the piece was meant to be a person mourning a loved one killed after texting and driving, rather than a conventional apocalypse.
Magpies strut, did you know? They carry themselves with the arrogance of the snottiest aristocrat, prancing about as though the very ground beneath their feet was laid down with the sole purpose of them one day gracing it with their presence.
Mama’s face lit up when she spied me through the old screen door. “Well hello there, Sugar.” She said. “Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes.” “Hello Mama.” I replied. “May I come in?”
Terry waited for Julie to pass before emerging from the shadows. “Hello, Michael.” he said coldly. “Terry! But you… you’re…”
Tick The room was quiet, oppressive. The sound of her own breathing filled her ears.
The worst part about the apocalypse isn’t the zombies.