They’re here. Right outside the door. They’re trying to be quiet but I can hear them moving around on the porch. I knew they were coming. Everything is prepared. I’ve seen Home Alone. And I know how much more lethal that shit is in real life. The problem is, I fell off the ladder when I was setting up the last paint can pendulum trap, and I broke my glasses. I can’t see shit. That was always one of those movie tropes that scared the hell out of me growing up. The broken glasses right at the worst moment, when it’s a life or death fight against the aliens or the zombies or the whatevers. Then, that improbably cliche shit happens to me. Not with zombies or aliens, but with those goddamned redneck Grovesnors. My gun is going to be a bit less reliable now, but hopefully if I just point it at the slightly darker blurry patches when I shoot I’ll at least wing one of ’em.
So, anyway, no glasses. Flying blind. Five of them, one of me. Power is down. No way to call the cops. I just have to hope all my traps hold up. And away we go.
trigger fiction. 