Sister Widows

Submitted into Contest #60 in response to: Write a post-apocalyptic romance.... view prompt


Science Fiction Romance

Rachel Peyton Colston (She/Her)

4433 Morgan Ford Rd. Apt. 2-S

St. Louis, MO 63116

314-309-5389 about 1000words

Widow Sisters

By: Peyton Cee

She stands beside the bed and gazes down at him. He is face down, asleep, and his lanky body, nude, glistens with a thin layer of sweat. He looks absolutely delicious even though she is completely sated for the night.

“And quite a night it’s been, too,” she says to herself. “Too bad it’s all we’ll have.”

With a sigh she thinks back on their night. It had started pretty quietly. She hadn’t even been hunting. She had just been having a drink by herself at the bar at Nectar’s and waiting for her friend Tasha’s band to start when he had walked up and sat down next to her. He had offered to buy her a drink, but she had showed him the one she had just started sipping, so he had just gotten himself a beer.

“You probably hear this all the time but your tattoo is amazing,” he had said. “I hope you aren’t offended but would you mind if I take a closer look?”

“How could I refuse when such a cute guy asks so politely?” She had answered. She had been wearing a halter top and with a flip of her long, dark red hair she had turned her bare back to him. The top roughly third of it was covered by a rather intricately tattooed spider and her web.

“It’s just too gorgeous,” he had said. “Does it have a special meaning?” He had asked and then sat down next to her.

She had given him her usual answer.

“Oh, my sisters and I all have them,” along with a little “nothing major” sort of shrug.

He had smiled at her, it was a little crooked, rogue-ish, and absurdly adorable, and they had just kind of taken off from there. He had asked if she was a regular there and she had said she hadn’t been there in a while. Eventually the topic of why the place was called Nectar’s had come up and she had told him she knew it was a reference to some old-time band that had been famous way back before the first ‘Rona but she didn’t know any more details.

Tasha’s band had killed it, as usual, while the two of them had danced and flirted and talked about nothing and everything. Eventually they had found themselves back at Tasha’s place smoking pot, drinking wine, and listening to Tasha’s collection of pre-’Rona recordings with Tasha, the rest of the band, the sound guy, and a few others. When the after-party had dissolved they had made their way back her to her place and there had been more wine and more reef and insane, sloppy sex.

So now she stands by herself and watches him sleep. As she does, her mind wanders back over the years and the guys. There have been so many of both. Way more than adorable mister pierced cock here could possibly imagine. Their names all are gone but their faces and voices flow through her head at an almost dizzying pace. Some were assholes and it was a delight to do what she had to be done. Others were so sweet that it took every ounce of resolve she could muster to follow through. Her memory travels back in time too, over all the years and all the parties, all the way back to before the very first ‘Rona and to the original Nectar’s and that long-ago band. She didn’t tell the current hunky cutie here about that. He would have thought it was some kind of odd joke, anyway. After all that was almost a century ago. She also didn’t tell him about her aunt coming to her after ‘Rona 22 mutated into ‘Rona-nereal and telling her the secret truth about how “The Neri” was being controlled and slowly beaten and the special role the women of their family and a handful of others were playing in it. She didn’t tell him about the horribly painful treatments to extend her life or about how only the women of her family and those few others had the genetic makeup to survive those treatments. She didn’t tell him about how proud she had been when those treatments were finally over and she was given her spider.

She burps and almost laughs out loud. She has always wondered how in the Hell anyone ever discovered that the same genes that allow those few to survive the Methuselah Process also cause the ingestion of certain bodily fluids of the males who are ‘Rona-nereal carriers to cause indigestion in those same few females. She runs a hand through her hair and wonders if anyone will ever figure out why. Despite everything, she tells herself, she is quite proud of the work she and all her sisters have done. Just a few years ago there never could have been a place like Nectar’s. There’s an open air market now just about right in the middle of the lopsided triangle formed by the three local villages. She has even heard talk of a spring festival next year. She can’t deny it’s a sad, bitter sort of pride, though.

With a mournful smile she looks down at him again. Good God he is so hunky and beautiful. This time was the hardest of all. She almost couldn’t make herself put the powder in the wine this time.

“Too hard,” she tells herself. And there have been so many. “Too many,” she thinks. She picks up the wine glass, the one the two of them have been sharing, and stares into it for a minute or two. She takes a sip, then smiles again, this time with a sad relief, and drains it.

“Fight the good fight, Sisters,” she says. She lays down next to him. “Fight the good fight as long as you can and then rest.” She closes her eyes, burps again, and falls into a soft snore. 

September 24, 2020 23:13

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