The Madman of Subfloor D
The survivors who lived in the vast underground complex underneath Charleston called him The Madman of Subfloor D. No one knew his name, exactly, though there were rumors. Someone said they once got close enough to read “Secretary of the Interior” on the card that hung from a lanyard around his neck but no one really knew what that meant. Or maybe they knew but just didn’t care.
His domain was a safe zone, free from the Spyrid invaders that swept the globe two generations ago. Where he went, there were no Spyrid webs.
And that was all that mattered.
For the past couple of weeks, I’ve been holding Facebook Live events on Tuesdays and Thursdays in which I read one or two of my stories and talk about being a creative person when maybe you haven’t always been one. The conversations usually last 30-45 minutes and contain some useful information along with mild shenanigans and occasional conversational rabbit holes. I plan to keep them going for as long as things are a bit crazy around here. They’re a nice source of sanity, at least for me.
Today’s story came from a picture prompt I posted Wednesday. You can read about it all right here if you like. Otherwise, enjoy this little glimpse into another worlds that bears a bit of a resemblance to ours.
(Photo Credit: Tama66 on Pixabay)