Casey Kowalewsky

A Short Story at the End of the World

People around us are coughing up blood. They inhaled too much ash, flecks of rock and glass that coat your lungs and suffocate you from the inside out. Our parents are already gone. They were lost with thousands of others in the first fiery wave of death, and now it was just me and Thomas crowded into a shelter with dozens of other refugees who probably wouldn’t make it either. Are Thomas and I next?