User:Hashk/Huntress

An entry into the Non Annual Rosslessness (Very) Short Story Competition.

The Huntress

The huntress is cold, yet fiery; she spends her life in hiding yet she's proud as fuck. She knows her strength, and how much of it the job requires; she knows it's not enough so she rests and thinks of nothing.

When it's show time, she'll earn the right to live another day, or her brains will grace the walls of her poor choice and there'll be no one to blame for it but herself. Yet the huntress wouldn't have it any other way.

You know why? The world has ended. What pride remains? What drive?

Zombies, they're predictable: by the time they arrive you can be slouching in a pub three 'burbs away. Survivors and their safehouses, their safety in numbers—better life expectancy, no doubt, but what kind of life is that, you have to ask yourself.

When the huntress hits the bank, her mind is clear.