Black Holes: A Narrative Fiction

Sierra was stirred from her rest, the sounds of someone making landing near her. She kept her breathing slow, measured. She couldn’t see anything, but that was to be expected, given the counter she had hidden herself in. She listened, focusing on the things happening outside of her, instead of her heart beating through her chest, the pounding of blood in her ears. The footsteps were soft, swift, and yet lingering. Just one, Sierra thought to herself, one is good. I can take down one. Unless it’s a scout, and there are a dozen waiting just outside. She felt herself shaking, pushing down the terror, gripping her shotgun close to her chest.

Just two days prior she wasn’t a shuddering, frightened mess. Sierra and her small group moved smoothly,

She returned to find five bloodsuckers feasting on their bodies, tearing them limb from limb to devour their very essence. There was a moment of temptation, to throw herself at the fiends, loading her twelve gauge upon them. Taking as many down as she could with her until she succumbed to the same fate as her friends. She knew none of them would forgive her in the afterlife, if there was anything so cruel as an afterlife, if she got herself killed in some foolish revenge plan. So she hid, taking sanctuary in the abandoned library for the past two

It was inevitable after all, that she would die here. What was one woman supposed to do alone, in the wastes, hiding from both the vampires that would rip her apart to feed, and the roving bands of men who would take her back to their compounds to rape her into madness. At this point her only choice was how she wanted to die: a swift, if painful, death as a meal to the bloodrinkers, or bred until her body could take no more. Or she could stay hidden, and succumb to thirst and hunger, which was bad enough. At the very least, she should check and see what manner of death awaited her on the other side of her cabinet.

Slender legs were on the other side, and immediately Sierra could tell it was a woman. A woman like her. Did she escape Talon’s clutches? Was she seeking some refuge from the wastes as well? For a brief, terrifying moment, Sierra dared to hope. She didn’t have to choose a manner of death this day. She could choose to live. She stalked out of her cubby hole, shotgun close to her chest, rust colored hair flowing loosely behind her. The woman turned towards her, catching Sierra’s breath in long forgotten desire. She was beautiful, long black hair covering half her face in a mysterious, alluring