Memory Planet by Hania Zdunek

Around her are war ships. Soldiers marching ‘left right, left right’ into the people; into their homes. Tubes are being carried towards her. She runs.

Shrenas heart is pounding as she dives behind a neighbour’s fence. She peers behind her and looks briefly into their window; they’re dead. She can feel it. She can smell it. Fresh blood, the air is tainted with the smell of iron and wetness.

She knows that it isn’t safe to stay here but Shrena can’t move. She’s paralyzed with fear. She notices that she’s clutching to a patch of grass that Mr Pronant never seemed to mow. It must have been too close to the fence for him to notice. But he’s dead now. He’ll never get to mow this patch of grass.

Legs shaking, knees buckling, Shrena sprints to the garage; forgetting to let go of the grass, it rips out from the ground and remains in her tightly clasped hand.

Her good deed for the day.

Inside she finds Mr Pronant’s cordless nail gun. Her hands still stained with grass and dirt, grab at the handle and fumble in a long chord of nails, swinging the rest over her shoulder. She turns it to the “ON” position and turns to flee.