I have just finished up a new short story called Prepper.
What a prepper you might ask?
A prepper is a person who believes a catastrophic disaster or emergency is likely to occur in the future and makes active preparations for it, typically by stockpiling food, ammunition, and other supplies.
"there's no agreement among preppers about what disaster is most imminent"
Here are the first few paragraphs
Day six was when it all went silent.
I don’t know what the fuck happened but there was no more yelling, no more screaming, no more crash of shop windows going in and the rat-a-tat-tat of the machine guns stopped.
For six days the world outside my front door went mad and started to eat itself. It all began on an ordinary Wednesday afternoon. Nothing ever happens on a Wednesday does it? It’s the hump day, everyone looks forward to the weekend, feet up on Friday with a bottle of wine and a takeout. Saturday, down the pub or club, Sunday lay in, lunch, a few pints before gearing up for the new week.
It was just a random afternoon off. I had a dentist appointment for a filling, nothing dramatic, but the fickle finger of fate had placed me back in my eleventh-floor apartment when the lights went off. When I say lights, I mean, every fucking thing. Poof, up in smoke just as they said it would. The predictions had come true.