Monday morning and everyone is dead.
Even the doctors are dead. In the hospital clinic there are bodies, the corpses of the infirm and becoming sick squeezed into every space available. All seats are occupied, all beds are taken, even the floors are littered with blankets and groups of family sufferers are crowded together.
Except all of them are not suffering anymore. All of them are dead. The juggling of the patients that the doctors and nurses had to go through during this epidemic does not matter any more, for they are all dead. Death has won.
She sits by herself on top of a counter, sipping a cup of cold coffee, looking around her at the state of the world now. All dead, all gone. It took one single disease to wipe out the entire human race in a weekend.
She blinks, and pauses, then sips more coffee.
Now she no longer has a job.
by Ailsa C. Williamson
What were your prompts?: clinic, coffee, juggling