The Meal

A short story that takes place in a post-apocalyptic world, where zombies roams the face of the earth, forcing the survivors to barricade themselves into their homes, living out their lives with no or little contact with each other. In one house an old man heads down the basement, carrying a food-tray in his old hands. You can also get this story in other formats, free @ Smashwords.

The quivering hands caused the pistol to drum against the tray. In silence, he stood in front the doorway, looking down at the dim light pouring up from the basement. With a sigh, he began to stagger down the stairs. A smell of decay and flaking walls greeted him as he stepped out onto the old plastic carpet in the worn-down basement.

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Exploration

Bloober’s large eyes were set on the dark silhouette, beside a glooming structure, elevating a couple hundred yards ahead. The dust-filled wind played with his dark leather cloak as his green bulbous body slid over the rough surface, leaving a trail of thick sludge behind.

Seen, heard, felt anything, scout?

Sahaen’s telepathic question popped up in his head like a vague thought.

Sound detected, approaching objects’, report follow.

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The Last Card

The bet was crazy, like the look in the Major’s grey, bloodshot eyes. Jack couldn’t help it, not if he wanted to leave in one piece. The droid whirled as it prepared to throw that last, life-changing, card on the table. With a pop, the card flew through the air, thick of smoke and anticipation.

Nine of Spades.

The room roared. The Major sprung up on unstable legs, sending his chair crashing to the floor. Jack swallowed, chuckled and felt his jaw relaxing. It was over – the pot was his.

He looked at the girl. She greeted him with pinched lips and faint furrows on her forehead. A silent tear escaped her alerted eyes.

“Am I free to go now, daddy?” She asked.

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· Copyright © 2015 by Ken Bergman All Rights Reserved ·

Her Vow

The dinner knife slid into Eric’s throat like butter. He sniveled and froze in his seat. A couple of guests gasped, gazing confounded at them. They had known about it, long before she stumbled upon them, going at it like rabbits. Now it was her turn to be demoralizing.

With a smile, she pulled out the knife, blew a kiss to her sister’s ash gray face and rose from the seat. The blood created jagged pink stripes, on the white dress. A thin film of blood covered the diamond on her finger. Is it a blood diamond now, she pondered. Then she buried the knife deep into Eric’s neck, sending his face into the broiled salmon.

She leaned down and whispered, “’Til death do us part, darling.”

Eric’s rattled puffs and the rustling from her dress, accompanied her out, into a brand new world.

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· Copyright © 2015 by Ken Bergman All Rights Reserved ·

A Quarter Short

“There is a quarter missing…”

Her head begun to spin like a slow carousel, her throat dried up and when she tried to swallow, she started coughing. The tall man in front of her uttered a hollow sigh, while his bluish-gray eyes, moved over the endless line of people behind her.

“Excuse me?” she asked with a hoarse voice and shook her head.

The man stared deep into her eyes.

“A quarter, there’s a quarter missing, for the charge.” His voice was sharp and it planted a seed of doubt in her head.

“But, but I gave you the money,” she looked back at the man with big innocent eyes, “I know I did!”

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The Girl in The Woods

As she pressed her youthful body against the moss-covered tree log, rough bark plates nibbled her skin through her T-shirt. Her heart was acting like a powerful and sweaty drummer solo. She moved eyes moved back and forth, as she listened.

She had felt psyched this morning. As she had stretched the sleep out of her limbs, with sun caressing her freckled face, there had been just one thought in her head – today she would meet her little brother. This positive mind set had now taken an abrupt turn to the worse and now she was afraid that she would never see him again. She banned herself and the little reckon expedition of hers that she set out do, two days ago.

She swallowed and breathed with her mouth open. With each breath, her body became more relaxed. It was dead silent now. Besides her anxious breathing, all she could hear was the faint rustle from the treetops. She must have escaped, she thought, and a wave of relief washed over her. So far so good, she thought, raised her head and let her scared eyes look over the tree.

The sight of a pair of blood shoot eyes, staring back at her, hit her like a rock in the forehead. With a shriek, she shot backwards, landing on her back on the forest’s soft carpet. She watched in horror as the zombie scrambled over the tree. Like a baby who had just learned to walk, the zombie’s movements were clumsy, lacking any kind of rhythm and human grace.

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Monsters Are Real

Deep inside he knew what had woke him up, and caused that cold sweat materialize on his forehead. He held his breath and listened. The only thing he could hear, out of the compact darkness, was his heart beating, hard and fast. Once again he heard the razor-sharp shriek, striking against the inside of his ears and he closed his eyes so hard, it almost hurt.

Even though he hadn’t heard that sound for years, he knew it far too well.

In the past, it would make him squirm in fear, screaming for his mother, who would come rushing to his aid, embracing him in her protecting bosom. For a short moment, he cursed her and the day she died, leaving him all alone in dark.

He heard something shamble under his bed. By the sounds, he reckon that it was something big and heavy, making its way to the edge of the bed. His chest burned of fear and with a grimace, he tossed his head to the side, as he heard it slowly crawling out.

The sounds of the thing’s damp breathing came closer, with a strange odor that smelled like a mix of something sweaty and rotten. He wanted to move his body, jumping out of the bed and just keep running, but it was paralyzed. A tear slowly squeezed its way from one of his eyelids, and tumbled down his cheek.

The dampness of the rattle breathing, hit the surface of his sweaty face. He knew that this was it; his life would come to a much premature ending.

A sore and monotone voice broke the trembling silence.

“Shh, listen… Your mother has a message for you… She is sorry for not believing you, when you cried out that there was a monster under your bed, when you were a kid… But she believes it now…”

He gasped and tried to comprehend what the voice just told him. Even though he was afraid, hearing that his mother gave him justice, made him feel comfortable. His body started to loosen up and the worse fear started to rinse off.

“She also wished that you could have a blistering birthday tomorrow, but… since monsters are real…”

A short, grueling scream echoed out from his bedroom and further into the dark night.

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· Copyright © 2010 by Ken Bergman  All Rights Reserved ·

The Cane

This short story, original published in 2014, drops you off at the start of a bank robbery, and let’s you experience the consequences that follows. You can also get this story in other formats, free @ Smashwords.

The old lady spiraled to the floor with a shriek; her seasoned wooden cane flew high in the air, as the man pushed passed her. She landed on her back, with a dry thud, arms and legs scattered, on the dark, shiny marble floor. The man stopped in his thrust, turned, and gave her a bland gaze from under his wild eyebrows, as if he just had bumped into a lamppost.

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