Lately, I’ve been burned out. I haven’t written anything of substance in days. Usually I can write something every single day, but, between editing other things and working on dozens of projects at the same time, my brain is fried.
Anyway, I have a pink notebook of unfinished ideas so I peek in it for a second and I see this.
I hope you enjoy.
The sun is dark–the color of blood.
The streets are corralled with chaos. Screams fill the potholes that the military left years ago. Blood-curdling cries rise in the air like vapor, an offering of sorts, but they aren’t dissipating. They stick, like paste, to the sky.
People are trampling one another.
An infant shrieks nearby–separated from his mother in the madness, perhaps. I watch unseeingly, helpless, with numb limbs, being shoved this way and that.
“What are you doing?” A familiar voice penetrates my eardrums. “Run!”
My feet stumble in his direction, obeying his unrelenting pull, but they are disoriented, confused.
An explosion knocks us off our feet, slamming us onto the pavement. With swollen eyes and ringing ears, it is here that I realize they are coming.
And we are so unprepared.
Copyright 2013 by Necole Ryse. All rights reserved.