The grime stuck stubbornly on the plate. Blood red, dried and flaky, remnant of the meal, they never finished. It started amicably but then turned toxic, like how it had always been. It was a relief if some of the dishes actually reached the sink. Rest unfortunate ones shattered on her face and stained walls. For his aggression she felt responsible. Always feeling apologetic. This meal was different. She had made a choice. The raised plate was resolutely grasped and snatched away. His expression changed from anger to fear. The plate struck on his throat. Tearing through his skin.
#99WordStories
Rays of the sun broke through the morning mist which was thicker this morning. The spores were ready for it. They were in preparation since what seemed eternity. The ash had descended slowly and surely once the mushroom had disintegrated. The flash was blinding, as blind as the fingers that pressed that button. Revenge and human nature was the recipe of destruction beyond human capacity and imagination. The arsenal kept for that eventuality was unleashed. The spores were the final hope for the living. The sunshine riding on the human hope released the spores. The life would begin again.
There
My Tales Within 