Sunday Scribblings: Miracle

The writing prompt over at Sunday Scribblings is miracle. One drabble, a story in 100 words, coming up:

End Game
It began with bells at the old Methodist church and spread to other places of worship, then car horns and finally to people banging together pots and pans.
The rain was warm, gritty, salty - and hit the parched Earth like tiny cymbals. A sizzle of sound that mixed with the joyous celebration of the faithful.
When the antigen mutated and went airborne, one of the last broadcasts said only a miracle could save the human race.
The storm clouds gathered; rain fell.
Lost is the downpour were the tears of those left behind.
Those left to tell their cautionary tale.

3 comments:

susan said...

Always the right detail. Great word choices. In this story the sounds and the punch of the verbs are spot on. A wallop upside the head. Love it, Thom.

Linda Jacobs said...

Cool prose poem!

missalister said...

Big work in a small space. It reminds me of early 2003 when I suvived religion with a mere handful of others.