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| Park Benches on the Apocalypse by Neriak |
“I’m not eating that.” Debbie said for the hundredth time. Bart shrugged
and put the dead rat in his pocket, to save for later.
“I’m cold, Bart. Why did we have to go out today? Why couldn’t we have
stayed back home?” Debbie moaned and Bart didn’t list the myriad reasons why
staying home wasn’t the wonderful idea his wife thought it was.
“At least we had a roof over our heads. And walls to keep away the
cold…” Debbie responded, as if having read Bart’s thoughts. “And we were in the
suburbs. It wasn’t so bad in the suburbs. And there wasn’t that much fallout.
And we had Mr. Stevens’ bomb shelter to hide in. I bet he’d let us in, if only
you’d let me talk to him.”
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