SPW Quicksilver Contest #1 - Second Place Winner!

We are proud to announce that H.T. Longale's contest submission received the second highest number of the judges' votes in Silver Pen Writers' first Quicksilver Contest of 2016. We are proud to publish this fine story. It's something for everyone to ponder. Readers, please feel free to comment on this story in the comment section below the post.  


Tit for Tat

by H.T. Longale

She scrambled out from behind the toppled conference table. Brunette wisps clung to her sweat-slicked cheeks. A gash in her fleshy thigh oozed blood onto the carpet as she baby-crawled past crumpled bodies of co-workers and through the minefield of shattered plate glass windows peppering the floor. Then she righted herself onto shaking feet and pulled open the boardroom’s door.

Elevators are out. Of course, her mind sighed. Everything’s out. Cold.

Her high heels clacked down the stairs and then through the lobby, crunching over more shards of glass.

Outside, screeching car alarms melded with the pendulous drone from air raid sirens. The whole, hellish cacophony echoed off the mirrored windows of the plaza’s buildings. She briefly considered a trek in retrieving her car from the parking garage, in order to drive to safety… somewhere else. Anywhere else.

But the streets were impassable, swollen with wrecks that blocked traffic in every possible direction. Most cars were already abandoned; passengers in tattered clothes wandered as if in a nightmare and struggling to awaken to a normal cityscape.

Next she headed toward the subway, but found its stairwell choked with rubble. A nearby skyscraper had been decapitated, and its point had tumbled flat onto the asphalt.

One of her heels got snagged in the grate of a storm drain and snapped clean off. So she hobbled and weaved amongst vacant vehicles. Once, she stumbled, catching herself against the bumper of a silver SUV. One of the flashy bumper stickers there caught her eye. Her stomach dropped.

There his image was -- the country’s newly elected commander-in-chief, complete with ruddy tan and tousled toupee.

Indeed he had kept his campaign promises. Brazen ambition exceeded even his most rabid supporters’ expectations. He had pulled the right strings in thrusting agendas through the House and Senate. His arm of the media crammed absurd ideology down the throats of citizens. He bullied his way about the UN, insulting and threatening heads of state.

Domestic and international compliance with the demagogue was minimal. Protests and brutality and arrests followed. Drones and smart bombs were next.

Therefore what, other than the violent retaliation, could anyone expect?

Yet most horrific to the woman’s mind was the inevitable aftershock of tit-for-tat. He and his peers played their games like toddlers, complete with tempter tantrums. And their deadly antics cried of, You bust my toys?! Yours are next!

Sniffing back her tears, she hobbled toward a young couple cradling their bleeding wounds. She beckoned with a friendly hand and thought, Might as well start by making new friends…

All rights reserved. H.T. Longale;  March 2016