This story was placed in the top 20 of all the short stories entered in the 2009 Yeovil Literary Prize competition and received a commendation from the judging panel.

So, this is what the end of the world looks like. In short, utter desolation. I look around me at a scene reminiscent of the black-and-white footage I remember seeing as a child of the bombing of Coventry and Dresden. Apart from the odd wall teetering at precarious angles, there is nothing left standing. As far as I can see everything has been reduced to piles of grey, dusty rubble. The roadway, which is virtually untouched, looks incongruous as it weaves its way through the huge amorphous mounds, its black tarmac glistening in the bright sunlight. Looking closer I can see that the sparkle effect is caused by marbles of glass that are the shattered remnants of car windscreens which were blown out as the shockwave ploughed across the area. Apart from the glass, the majority of cars look fairly untouched. Still neatly parked against the kerb as the owners had left them. Now parked forlornly outside buildings that no longer exist.

I can see my car in the road, too. I wonder idly if it will still go or whether its inner workings are all destroyed. I look to my left and can see a car – that was obviously being driven at the time the explosion hit – stopped at an odd angle across the road. It, too, has no windows but, unlike the other vehicles, this one has a driver. Or had. I can see the charred body still in the seat, the head resting against the headrest, the white of the teeth shining out of the blackened, burnt face. One hand is still clasped tightly around the steering wheel. I look a little closer and I can see the remnants of a light bar across the roof of the car. It was quite obviously a police car before the explosion, the occupant presumably checking the curfew was being adhered to, checking everyone was indoors and as safe as they could be under the circumstances. My tears sting my eyes and a small sob catches in my throat. I am certain such selfless acts of bravery were common to the individual in the car and almost certainly went unrecognised. I determine to honour the officer in the only way I can, by giving his body a decent burial. When I can face such a gruesome task.

I wipe my hand across my eyes to stop the tears. It is strange that I feel such sorrow for the individual in the car, but feel nothing for my current plight. I stop to think for a moment. I have stayed underground in my collapsed building for two days now in the hope that the air would be cleaner when I finally emerge. Now I am sitting on a pile of broken bricks next to the hole I fought my way out of and it suddenly hits me. Total and utter silence. Not even any birds singing. Not that the trees would be much for them to sing about. At best they are just blackened skeletons of trees. As I look around me I can see no other signs of life at all. There is no obvious indication that anyone else has survived this holocaust. I shout out, my voice sounding hollow and weak in the stillness of the air. I listen intently as the shout fades away, straining to hear any unusual sounds. Hoping against hope that I will hear someone responding to my cry. Nothing. I try again with exactly the same result...

This is just the first quarter of the story to give you a little “taster”. I hope to publish the full story in a short story compilation sometime in the future.

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