The Chosen

Not being able to see more than a few feet in front of her was unnerving, as was the silence; the only sound she heard was that of her shoes clicking loudly on the damp paving slabs underfoot. There were probably buildings nearby, she reasoned. If she just kept walking long enough in the same direction then she was bound to find something.

A shadowy figure emerged from the murk, and Sandra paused. “Hello?”

As if in answer to Sandra’s call, the figure stepped closer. It was a woman with silver hair and jet black eyes, even the sclera, which startled Sandra somewhat.

“You’re not from here are you? You shouldn’t be here, not now. It’s too dangerous.”

“Why? What’s happening?”

The woman’s skin began to fall from her face as if desiccated, revealing red raw flesh. “It’s the Abatement; some of us have been chosen early. We’re being consumed.”


About TheImaginator

35 year old sciolist living in Tokyo. I like swing dancing, Twitter word games, writing, using, reading, and watching movies. I write stuff on my blog occasionally.
This entry was posted in Creative writing, Shrouded City and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to The Chosen

  1. Interesting, but I think you kind of lose the audience a little with “sclera.” It’s not exactly a common word.
    “Don’t fire ’til you see their scleras!” … kind of clunky.
    “Don’t fire ’til you see the whites of their eyes!”

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