This is the 96th in a series of 365 Flash Fiction stories I’m writing. You can find out more about the challenge here.
Plague Curfew, by Jonathan L. Lawrence, 7th March 2013
Word count: 972
“Urgh,” Mike groaned in bed as light flooded the room. He tried to roll, but without a blanket that wasn’t much of an escape, and the light hurt. It hurt his eyes even when they were closed, the warmth made him feel sick, his head was a screaming ball of pain.
He rolled right off the bed and hid behind it instinctively.
“Get up Mike,” a stern but feminine voice said, followed by a sigh.
“Urgh,” Mike said groggily raising his head above the parapet of his bed and looked at his beautiful and cruel wife who gave a small laugh at the sight of him. His simple brain ran through a series of reactions, fear, hunger, arousal, though given the pain and the confusion he was frozen in place.
“Come on get up,” she said sternly, “I’ve no sympathy when it’s self inflicted.” She was just finishing getting dressed.
“Urghhhh,” Mike said as he admired her soft supple skin.
“Now you’re not even being funny, bye Mike,” she said grabbing her coat and bag to head downstairs.
Mike pulled himself up and went after her, keeping out of the sunlight as much as he could.
“Urgh,” he said at the top of the stairs.
“Oh go back to bed Mike,” his wife said angrily as she put on her shoes at the bottom of the stairs. “If you’re not off to work you might as well get this place cleaned up. Serves you right for being out drinking after this stupid virus curfew.”
Then she was gone, and with no other stimuli, he had no interest in staying awake, so he went and laid down. An hour or two later the post man knocked on the door, waking Mike up. He ran to the door where he could see the silhouette through the glass.