Ellen’s flashlight bobbed along the street, illuminating broken bodies. They’d belonged to people once, but were now empty shells. Ellen hated death’s stench, but it followed her just like the flashlight.
She met the light at a wall splattered with gore and surrounded by china-white shards of broken children. The flashlight’s beam passed over letters bled onto the wall telling her to run. She was not afraid. There was nothing to fear. Tonight she’d died the last time. Death was past.
The remains of her past bodies stirred with a breeze. Ellen switched off her flashlight to enjoy life’s darkness.