The Fall ~~ Mel Schweizer

decided to write a short story about quarantine, with a bit of a twist. :)
Enjoy~

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She baby-ishly blew raspberries, staring up at the sand-colored ceiling, and popped a few Reese's Pieces into her mouth while she did so. She didn't know how long she'd been laying there, only that the wind howling outside was hellishly groaning and whining. The storm was far from over.
Her body was perched on the mattress on the floor in the upstairs spare room. She tried not to let the whirring and whining of the monster outside get to her. She stood at the window, staring mother nature in her ugly face, banging on the door. Closing her eyes, disallowing the rain to enter, she slammed the window down.
Still, the wind was relentless.
At least now, the window was closed, and the rotting scent of The Fall couldn't get inside. At least not into the house. But her mind was already corrupted by the stench.
Grey leaves hit the panes, and she shuddered. She had been in this house for months, yet it didn't feel like home. Especially now. The dead leaves did just that, and left, leaving behind hand print-like marks on the glass.
But, of course there were no hand prints on the second-floor window. She was alone, and had been for a long time.
Self isolated.
Alone in quarantine.
She set her chocolate down on the floor beside her.
It was stained red.
She missed the body that had lay next to her, just weeks before. His warm breath was gone, his strong arms, now limp. The virus had taken him from her.
Again, she blew raspberries. Something to do. Her brain was becoming numb, and she needed to get out of there.
She threw herself up to her feet, feeling light-headed for a period of time that seemed too long to be normal. Maybe it was normal for her. She didn't know. She didn't want to know anymore.
Mother nature banged at the door. She was ready to grab her gun and "bang" it back. She was so sick of this cold. Sick of the loneliness. Sick of The Fall.
She coughed, tasting metal in her mouth. She stormed down the stairs, grabbing her coat, her gloves, and her gun.
She was about to swing open the door, until she saw his face through the glass of the foyer window. Of course it was a mind trick.
He was dead.
She had to convince herself of this. It's not him. It's not him, it's not him, it's not him.
She grabbed at her hair, covering her ears. Her thoughts were too loud.
Maybe she should just go sit down.
The red front door shook under the pounding and rattling of the storm outside. The fingers and limbs which came stalking from the forest behind the trees incessantly tapped at the wood of the door.
Really, it would make no difference if the hinges had nothing to hold onto.
After all, her brain was already corrupted. Sickness grew like the silence. Thick, and black, and into her brain stem.
She decided to place a wicker chair at the window, to watch the monster in its disgusting glory.
Her shoulder throbbed, small tendrils of blood trickled down her skin.
He would have joked and said to get it checked out by a doctor.
Flashes of white light faded into her eyes, and she rolled them back to get it to stop.
Everything was getting fuzzy.
Quarantine will end soon. It will be okay. Someone will come along with medicine.
She only had another day at the most, and that was being generous.
The groaning from outside had gotten louder. Are there more?
There were.
But at this point, she couldn't wait any longer. She needed to leave.
Slowly and shakily, she stood, coughing softly. Hand prints hit the window.
The drying blood on her skin infuriated her. She was very, very sick.
She gripped her handgun, knuckles white, and prepared to open the red door.
The stained floor from upstairs flashed in her mind, and she feverishly shook.
She looked behind her shoulder, expecting him to be there, but he wasn't.
Of course he wasn't.
But maybe he would be, soon.
Her left hand unlocked the door, and moved, cautiously to the handle. Her whole body throbbed with her heartbeat. Especially in her shoulder. Anxiety.
There wasn't much to be afraid of anymore. There wasn't much time left after all.
She tore open the door, and there it was. She was staring death in it's greying face.
It's skin used to be gorgeously tan, but now, it was barely hanging on to the bone.
The wind howled through it's eye socket, so she filled it. With a bullet.
The creature lay at her feet, but she had no time to stop and stare.
Someone grabbed her from behind. She spun around, without hesitation, and pulled the trigger. this creature too, lay at her feet. Her gun was empty.
She stood, coughing, and energized with adrenaline. The metal taste filled her mouth again.
The wind ceased, and she bent over, resting her hands on her knees.
No one else was coming. She would have heard them by now. She looked at the door, hanging open.
How ugly the house looked from the outside, with its scratches and scabs and nails at the door.
She wasn't going back inside.
She walked, shaking, to a dry spot in the middle of the empty intersection, and fell.
She stared up to the clearing sky on her back, noticing the grey changing to a warm sunset.
The sand morphed to gold. But now, it seemed that she couldn't blow raspberries, or snack on chocolates. Her mouth was already full.
She coughed and sputtered as the liquid began trickling out from the corner of her lips.
She felt at peace though. With the warm sunset and the hoards of people she was soon to be with, she felt comforted.
Silently, she smiled, bloody-toothed and tearful into the heavenly scene above.
I'll see you soon, my love.