Flash Fiction: Done Bleeding

At the end of it all–a conversation. It’s called:

Done Bleeding

“Does the last human want a drink of water?” she says and holds this strange, warped glass toward me.

I can’t grab it of course. My arms and legs pinned to the table. Only a sheet and space separating my heart from her claws.

“I’d like food, actually.”

“Oh, I’m sure you would,” she says. “I’m sure you’d like a lot of things.” Continue reading