I haven't posted here for a long while, nor have I written anything for a while. So, to try and get back into writing, I decided to try a little self-made challenge: to write a complete little story in one page. And here it is. One page of writing. As always, any critique or suggestions will be much appreciated.
William Sharpe sank into his leather chair, flicking from camera to camera on the small security monitor attached to his desk. No good news to be seen.
“Power,” he mused to himself, “comes and goes far too quickly.”
With another quick glance at the monitor, he straightened up in his chair. His back complained with a crack. Age had definitely not been kind to William. But, that goes with the territory. Stress will age a man faster than anything.
Not more than three years ago, he had taken over Jillian Industrial, and had quickly brought a profit to the failing company. Investors quickly leapt on board, and soon he had turned a small time company into an industry leader. Such a dramatic turnaround didn’t come easy, though. Nor did it come without a price.
He only vaguely remembered that late night when his wife stormed into his office, clutching divorce papers, ranting, screaming, crying, threatening. He didn’t care. He signed the papers without a thought. In his mind, they were just another document needing his John Hancock. No big deal.
It had been almost two years since he had last seen her, or even thought about her. To his surprise, he found himself hoping she was alright. With another glance at the monitor, he brushed aside all thoughts of past relationships, and double-checked the clip in his custom-made Jericho 941.
About five minutes left.
How sad, that he couldn’t think of any meaningful way to spend these last few moments of life. So he just sat there. Five minutes passed. Another glance at the monitor revealed it might take a little longer. He waited. Another five minutes, and another. Finally, he heard it. A thump against his door, followed by scratching. Within a minute, the slow scratching grew louder as more came, and the scratching turned into vicious pounding that caused the heavy oak door to shudder. Another minute later, and the door was splintered, and lying scattered about his far too expensive rug.
“Good evening. I’ve been waiting for you all,” William’s twisted smile barely masked the fear clawing at his heart. He raised the pistol at the group. “I hate waiting.”
The bullets smacked into the approaching figures with a wet smack. They kept coming. The nearest man reached the desk, and extended his rotting fingers towards William, as another hail of bullets blew off the man’s hand, tore off a chunk of flesh from his shoulder, and shattered the top of the skull, above the left eye. The corpse collapsed on the desk, twitching sporadically.
William snatched another clip off his desk and loaded it. He rose quickly from his chair, his old body’s complaints deafened by a surge of adrenaline. Unloading another barrage of bullets on the advancing crowd, he felt his left arm go numb. A sharp pain struck his chest, and he groaned. “Not now.”
Struggling to stay standing, he emptied the last of the clip, but each shot strayed wildly from it’s intended mark, as the pain sharpened. He collapsed in his chair, watching in terror as the crowd advanced. A corpse in a blue dress dragged itself across his desk, grabbing at his helpless body. He felt her grip tighten on his arm, and the chair slid towards the ghoul as it pulled him in.
The pain in his chest forgotten as he felt the teeth sink into his right forearm. His eyes widened in a flurry of pain and confused, horrified emotions as he watched a chunk of his own flesh peel off in the ghoul’s mouth. The sight of his own blood pooling across his desk was too much to handle, and he felt his mind slipping away as the rest of the horde caught up with their comrade in the blue dress. A cacophony of moans filled the air, and William Sharpe’s last moment of conscious thought ended.