Food

It doesn't smell like food. It smells like that thing I found where I run around sometimes that maybe was food at one point but wasn't food any more. At least not good food. Maybe this is not good food? I'll just take a small bite and see if - ugh... this is not food.

Mommy

     "Did you see the funny tree Daddy?"
     "I sure did. It kind of looked like a clown, didn't it?"
     "It wasn't a clown. It was mommy. She told me so."
     "Oh, the tree... I uh, I mean mommy talked to you?"
     "Yep. She said you're going the wrong way."

Snowflakes

Snow flakes, fat and wet, drift gently, lazily down, joining their kin already at rest on trees and empty fields. There is no breeze, no movement from creature or man. The world is cold and still, hushed as if sleeping and waiting to wake. Each snowflake becomes a memory of movement, a promise that life continues and will return again.

Ocean

I can still smell the ocean sometimes. I can't see the faces of loved ones or remember the street where I lived. Indeed, most of what came before the desert is like a dream almost faded, thoughts and images just beyond remembering that you can't get back no matter how hard you try. I'm not even sure I remember my own name.

But I can still smell the ocean.

Code

As hard as he tried, he simply could not find an answer this time. It had to be somwhere, hidden in the text, but this code was unlike anything he'd ever encountered before. There seemed to be no cipher whatsoever, no clue as to how he should interpret the apparently random sequences of letters and numbers.
     "Any of you fluent in Ugaric?" he asked.  "It was rhetorical," he muttered as one of the men started to answer.

Generator

     "If you don't get that generator back online, we won't survive the next few hours, let alone days."
     "I'm working on it, Jade! It'd help if you kept the forzali off my back."
     "What do you think I've been doing, you thankless grunt? Move it, or I'll kill you myself and use your oxygen."

Foggy

You couldn't even see your hand in front of your face, so thick was this fog. Now, fog was common enough in Cornerbrook, but it typically didn't seep out of the broken windows of an abandoned hospital. This was no ordinary fog, and already I could feel the difference on my skin. Then came the light - green and seemingly coming from everywhere all at once. Where all of this came from and what its purpose was, I still haven't the foggiest.

Down Draft

An ear-splitting screech filled the night, waking Tohl and the others and sending them scrambling for their weapons. The camp was covered in temporary darkness as a huge form flew overhead, blocking the moon. A violent down draft caused by massive wings knocked over two tents and scattered the coals from the fire, and men rushed to stomp the embers out before the dry grass could catch.

     "By the Great God, what is it?" Kyram shouted, sword and shield shaking in his hands despite his training.
     "Such a monster is not the work of God, Kyram," Tohl replied, adding in a whisper, "but may he have mercy on our souls..."

Beginning

Every story has a beginning, but what most people think of as the beginning is anything but. You can't even call it a middle. It's simply one more point of interest that sparks a rabbit trail focused on one individual or event, or series of events, that takes part in the actual story, which is much bigger, and much longer, than we sometimes realize. If you really want your story to begin at the start, then every story ever written should begin the same way:
In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.

Sleep

Vyra couldn't remember the last time she'd slept. There was no resting out here; you couldn't afford to doze for a few minutes, let alone actually sleep. The only thing that kept you alive was being awake.
And so Vyra knew she wouldn't live much longer.
Sooner or later, sleep would have to come, and with it, death.