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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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 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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