A Hot Mess (100 word story)

You reach into the freezer for that last Hot Pocket and realize the box is empty.  What do you do?  You never got dressed today, and now it’s almost 6:30pm.  If you put clothes on now you’ll just ruin them and have to wash them, wasting energy and money.  You smell yourself.  Damn, when was the last time you took one of those?  Doesn’t matter if you’re not going out, but what are you going to eat?

Then you wake up; ice cold Hot Pocket in hand.  You look at the screen and say, “Well played Fallout 4.  Well played.”

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You look across the field and see nothing, but the yips of the restless pack hidden in the tall grass make the hairs on the back of your neck stand up and take notice.  Their excitement matches your fear.  Why did you insist on coming out here alone?  You wanted to show you were tough.  You were always the head of the pack in the city, but now here you were way out of your element.  You pull out your knife.  It is an impressive one, nine inches long and so sharp it could slice a sheet of paper in half, along its thickness.  This is the type of knife that someone even with a gun would get freaked out by if you are within stabbing range.  Yeah, no dog or coyote or wolf was going to be impressed by that.

Suddenly one of the dogs lets loose a howl of desire, followed by the rest of the pack replying with the Howl.  That sound deserved its capitalization for what it made your insides do to you.  You want to run, but your street smarts kick in.  Never show your fear, especially never run.  Once you run you can never go back.  You already did that once.  That’s why you’re here now.

The grass waves in the dead air, and you start to regret your decision not to run.  Maybe with enough of a head start you could have gotten up a tree.  There are plenty of them behind you.  Just like what happened to you in the city.  Plenty of places to run.  Plenty of places to leave your brothers and sisters behind to face what you couldn’t .  Plenty of ways for you to let them down by not trying at all.

You begin to run forward, aiming for where you think the first foe is.  This time you’re going to finish what you started, or you get finished by it.  Your knife sings through the air, and you begin to smile.  No matter what happens, this time you’re going to go down swinging.