The cutting floor...

 I entered a writing contest...well, more of a battle.

The rules were we had three days to write a 500 word story, using prompts drawn from a digital deck. I was intrigued by the concept, so decided to enter. My thought was I would churn out three stories, sit with them for a moment, then pick one to edit and submit. After the moment passed I couldn't pick one, so I gave all three a little bit of the editing love, and... I still couldn't pick. So I let the dice decide.

Here is one of the stories that didn't make the cut:

7 days after leaving, we found the mine. The soot-streaked walls, overturned carts spilling black lumps over the rough ground like so many marbles suggesting a coal mine. It seemed like a good place to stay, to hole up, literally, as we waited out the end of the world.

What were we waiting for? I don’t rightly know, but when the sky went red, and the clouds rolled in, everyone panicked, everything changed. We had originally thought we could stay home, lock the doors, watch the crazies roaming the streets. At first it was entertaining, if creepy. Wild eyed they roamed, placid, almost serene. Then as the crowds grew, the wailing started. More and more took to the streets, old women, boys barely old enough to have hair on their chests. Some formed loose packs, and the Disaster didn’t discriminate, people of all races and creeds joined in, took the to streets, and wailed.

We got used to it after a few days, the low keening from outside, haunting, and, when you could convince yourself for a moment that this wasn’t the end of the world, almost beautiful. As the crowds grew, the wailing, discordant as it was, took on a choir-like tone. Comforting, in a way, since we knew if it was out there, it wasn’t in here. Then the wailing stopped. It was the middle of the night, and it was the silence that woke me. Suddenly alert, I slid out of bed, my wife whispering fiercely at me to stay, but I had to see what was going on. I crept slowly to the window and drew back the curtain, looking out and down onto the street, and what I saw made my blood run cold. They were all still there, and they were all staring at the bedroom window, at me. Before I could even open my mouth, the crowd outside shifted, never taking their eyes off me, and started walking their calm, serene walk towards the house.

I told my wife we had to go, she didn’t hesitate, didn’t argue, I don’t know if it was the fear in her veins or the tone of my voice. I didn’t know where we were going to go, but something had changed. We couldn’t stay here. We gathered as much as we could, as fast as we could, and took off from the back door, into the woods that backed onto our house.

That was then, and this is now. We’re running low on food. My family is asleep further in, huddled around the embers of a dying fire. Here I sit at the mouth of this cave, while they sleep. The only defender my family has against...  Movement in my peripheral vision startles me from my reverie. As I peer around the beams that mark the entrance, a little girl steps into view, her pace calm, steady, serene. Her eyes are glassy and staring directly into mine. Oh no, it’s too late. I’m sorry.