Follow the Tracks

a short story about apocalypses and motherly advice

When the world fell, the last thing my mother told me was "Follow the tracks..."

I walked through dead cities and empty towns...

"Follow the tracks..."

past trees of hanged men and campsites strewn with corpses...

"Follow the tracks..."

I killed and bled and stitched myself up more times than I could count before I realized that my mother never knew where the tracks led.

But she knew that hell is easier to walk through when you pick a direction.

Short story written by Peter Chiykowski

Story prompt taken from a photo by Unsplash