Tuesday’s Tale, 9/26/2017.


Okay, I fell off the wagon again, but to be fair my computer blew up; whatever, I’m here now. Five minutes on the clock and away we go.

“No time!” Was the only valid reply; he started to jog again. He would be sprinting, except for the dark and the third rail. He did not want to be here when the gas caught up to the ash.

The small group followed him, well back. That was good. They might not enjoy how they were destined to die.

It started a mile down the track; first, they started coughing, little polite coughs which broke into loud wet racking coughs.

The man in the Raiders cap kept them moving. “Come on, breathe through your shirts, or wrap something around your nose and mouth. We gotta keep going.”

They knew now, why he had his mask.

The first one to drop was a child, a girl that couldn’t be older than 10. Raider cap wasted no time in scooping her up and continuing on. The group made it another ten steps before the girl’s mother dropped, and then a man.

Smith didn’t stop. There was no point.

And there we go. Time elapsed is four minutes fifty-three seconds. See you next week, provided nothing else happens.


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