Diddie's Stories!

It was a wonderful place, the third story apartment where she had lived. The building had been made of slate-colored stone blocks. It was very old, all the windows and doors having decorative designs about them. There were gargoyles perched on a ledge slightly below the roof. Creeping ivy and rose vines had climbed up the walls and made the building look like a blazing sunset in the summer. The living room window had overlooked a park where she would often take her daughter to play. On sunny days, the room would take on a golden glow, but she never opened the window for fear that her little Melissa would fall out. Melissa was all grown up now. Nineteen years old and a mirror image of her mother.

She had the same piercing eyes, the same long thick hair, which they both always wore in a thick braid. She had the same fair complexion that burned so easily in the sun. Melissa had the same high-set cheekbones and pointy chin as her mother. She wanted to get a nose job when she was a teenager; she hated the little bump at the very top of it. She and her mother were the same height, five feet, eight inches, and had the same husky voice. Fighting in this gods-forsaken war had made them both strong and muscular.

Brianna's thoughts turned to the war. They had tried to make peace with the aliens. Well, maybe the word "tried" was too strong. They hadn't blown them out of the sky, not that any attempts would have been successful. No matter now, though. Every human that she knew of was either dead or captured, including Melissa and her father, Allen. Brianna sighed and again thought of her home, where the three of them had lived together. She loved New York.

All of these things ran through her head as she examined the junkyard that was once Manhattan. She was torn from her reverie by the sound of approaching footsteps. They were coming for her. "If I'm going down, some of them are too," she thought bitterly. She whipped around and squeezed the trigger of the automatic laser rifle she had been clutching in her right hand. Three of them died before she was struck in the head and knocked out cold.

Brianna's eyes flew open at the sound of a ringing phone. She looked about in confusion at her surroundings. She was in her old apartment with the roses and the gargoyles, with the window overlooking the park in Manhattan. She shook her head and picked up the phone. It was her husband, Allen, calling to say that he would be late coming home. "You're already late, buster," she thought fondly as she looked at her wristwatch. It was ten o'clock. He was caught in a business meeting he said.

She went into her daughter's room. Little Melissa was fast asleep. At only nineteen months she already looked exactly like her mother. Brianna chuckled to herself. Never again would she eat chocolate cake just before going to sleep.