Captain Dyce walks across the dead land she is responsible for. The whoosh of nuke rockets and the whizz of bombs haunt her. Incendiary fires burn her nostrils. Inside her army issue radiation suit all she can taste is filtered recycled air.
Dyce stops. In front of her is a small green plant, no more than a leaf. She wants to pluck it from the cracked ground and pit it to her radiation suit like a daisy on a summer dress. The smells and sounds of a different time return
She will destroy hope without the pyrotechnics this time.
This story first appeared on Flash! Friday's website. It was categorically written by Stephen Shirres and not, as stated earlier, by Eric Smith. Some sort of computer glitch: it's happened before but this is the first time I didn't spot it.
Dyce stops. In front of her is a small green plant, no more than a leaf. She wants to pluck it from the cracked ground and pit it to her radiation suit like a daisy on a summer dress. The smells and sounds of a different time return
She will destroy hope without the pyrotechnics this time.
This story first appeared on Flash! Friday's website. It was categorically written by Stephen Shirres and not, as stated earlier, by Eric Smith. Some sort of computer glitch: it's happened before but this is the first time I didn't spot it.
