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The Last Supper
The night crept up imperceptibly and smothered the whisky coloured day with darkness.
Leon’s bones creaked with shame and guilt as he smashed the hammer into Milton’s face.
Later, his stomach growled with hunger and fear as he fried the corpse of the only other human left alive.
Paul D. Brazill





Feb 07 2010
oh wow!
Feb 07 2010
I love anything to do with End of the World Day. This was lean and tight, but conjured up vistas of cinematic imagery.
Feb 07 2010
Outstanding, Paul. This is a chilling tale you packed into 50 words.
Feb 07 2010
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Feb 07 2010
Delicious Paul, I would have to say, I’d enjoy each mouthful knowing that soon enough I’d have to find a way to eat something else.
Feb 07 2010
OH, this is delicious Paul. I love it when you surprise me.
Feb 07 2010
Wow! Paul, this smacks us in the face.
Feb 07 2010
Nicely done mate. Not a wasted word.
Feb 07 2010
Nice. Super creepy. What do you do when you’re the last human alive except feast on the dead?
Feb 07 2010
Gotta love apocalyptic stories no matter how short. That was sort of like being the last person alive with Piers Morgan as your sole company, think I’d rather be on my lonesome too.
Feb 07 2010
Cannabilism in survival situations.
Feb 07 2010
A strange encapsulation of the human condition, Mr. Brazill… well done.
Feb 07 2010
whoaa, crispy!
Feb 07 2010
oh my gosh. gruesome and wonderful at the same time.
Feb 08 2010
Thanks eveyone . Lee, THAT is a scary thought.
Feb 08 2010
Bulls-eye, yet again Paul. Loved it!
Feb 08 2010
Damn. Uh. Yeah. Love that hammer in the face. Smash it. Great one, Paul.
Feb 10 2010
gruesome. love it.