More fragmentary fiction

Over at The Last Ancient House I've posted another fragment based on a very explicitly detailed dream I once had. No sense in cluttering up this blog with it. If you want to read it, it's at To Be Like Those Who Are Truly Dead.

Almost everyone died, for a little while. The few who lived thought it was the end of the world. Sometimes now it's easier to believe it was the beginning of hell.

And here I am again, almost out of ammo and the sun coming up. I can feel them gathering, moving on the other side of the wall. They are drawn by the warmth of my flesh, by the beating of my still living heart. I can feel them like the brush of cold scales across my skin in the darkness, like the vague movement of a shadow in the night, like the chill of a winter wind down the back of my neck.