Break From Reality. Daily.
This story is by Gina Screen and was part of our 2018 Fall Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here. I am the last woman on Earth. I’m not sure how I know this. It’s true though, I feel it inside me. It’s an itch. Robert died days ago, twitching and…
They played the very last game of the very last World Series in Los Angeles. It was August and below freezing at Dodger Stadium.
As he watched the game on the old television, Melvin Thompson cried a little when one of the players went down on a patch of ice. “Hudson tries to steal second, he slides . . .” — then a pause, it became clear it was not a slide — “he’s not gonna make it, he’s out.” The pitcher went down for good, after going into convulsions in the seventh inning.
One last grasp of happier times, Thompson thought, before sunlight, baseball and hot dogs slipped away for good; before pandemics, a looming ice age and little men in big cars, kidnapping ordinary Americans under the cover of darkness and official badges, took everything away.
