Secondhand Smoke
1/1
9:48 pm
The older man’s whistling slipped into and out of the atmosphere. It slid underneath her footsteps and hollowed out her fragile ear drums. He wore an old, tattered apron over his stomach. His pockets were filled with the jingle-jangle of loose pocket change payments. He sold candy to the children of the neighborhood. All the parentless, poor children would pay him half a penny to eat his sweets. Most of them would pay half a penny to escape the horrors of the city.
Somehow, happiness still lingers the streets like discarded dead bodies resting on the sidewalks. The little girl is wearing Mary Janes that her father bought her for a special occasion such as this. Her silken hair is done up in two pig tails held by pink ribbon. She is skipping down the ruins of the cross roads. Her eyes are the same color as the lollipops that the man sells down the street. Her stockings are torn in lazy rivers, but she smiles like none other.
The man whistles despite the fact that everyone else is locked up in their cavern homes. Dead bolted and secure. Windows are shut and periwinkle curtains are drawn shut. The town is seemingly deserted except for the man and the party pigtail girl. She stretches her chubby fingers into her pink plated pockets and her fingernail catches on a hole. All her money is gone. Perhaps in the road or lying on the front step. Her mother and father are no where to be seen.
The man’s whispering whistle blends with the winds overhead and the girl wanders the streets looking for her missing pennies. There is graveling concrete and asphalt underfoot. The air is crisp and it leaves moisture clinging to her bare arms and neck. She shudders through her spine as if expecting the impending doom.
9:57 pm
The night is beginning to seep into the day. The man at the candy stand is starting to tuck his things away. He folds up his table like an ironing board into a wall. He eyes the girl, all alone with no parent by her side to hold her hand as she climbs the barren streets. He shakes his head in shame or despair, but lets her be for it is not his business.
Her shoelace becomes untied and is dragged through the dirt and grime left behind. If she knew how to tie, she would, but she just lets is hang and watches her footing with a careful eye. She is worried that her pennies are left on the stair in front of her house, but she keeps looking and the man begins to leave.
10:09 pm
Suddenly a sound is ripped from the sky. It screeches and tears through the air. The noise is forced down her throat and makes her stomach boil. She covers her ears and the old man looks up to the heavens. Military planes roar overhead. Exhaust tails behind like a snails trail left behind on a Summer blacktop. Towns people rush out of their dead bolted, locked up houses. A few are in their caps and gowns whilst many are still in their party clothes. Everyone looks towards the sky and watch as the planes rip though their small city.
It is a little boy who points at ground level and shouts out over everyone else. Heads turn and some run in the opposite direction. Flames licked at the edged of the town. The ground shakes and ribbons of fire dance up the streets.
The flames rapidly ravage the town, gaining on the innocent villagers and the little girl’s hair bows. The man’s whistle is strangled and diffused as the fire rips the oxygen from his lungs for fuel. All around people are gutted of their breath. The air surrounding the city is dragged down into the center of a fire storm and the flames burst higher, flicking their serpent tongues towards the blackened sky.
The girl is standing on the edge. She watches as the man is skinned alive by the fire. His skin is boiling. His cheek bones are melting. His fingers, crooked and broken with arthritis, shrivel and claw at his throat. His chest deflates as his last breath is thrown from his throat and into the flames.
No one is distinguishable as the fire rapes them of their identities to leave them as pools of blood and bone. Masses of people are melting in the fires and the planes are still roaring overhead. Her hands are covering her ears and she is crying so hard that tears do not come. The houses are burning. Curtains and dead bolts are red with an angry flame. Mothers carrying their children run screaming from the fire of the city. They are crying and their children are crying as ash litters down and sears their cheeks. The smell of burnt bodies hangs in the sky. Death is slowly rampaging this city. Many fall to the burning hand of the flame.
10:33 pm
The fire reaches up and strangles her without a touch. Her lungs fall flat like an empty balloon. Her eyes roll back into skull. She coughs. She sputters like a car with a rusty engine. The fire rolls around her body. Her dress goes up in flames. Rays of red murder lace up her legs and her throat. Her blood is boiling just beyond the surface. Her skin drips from the bones. She is just a mess of blood and fire now. She is just a mess of forgotten memory.
The older man’s whistling slipped into and out of the atmosphere. It slid underneath her footsteps and hollowed out her fragile ear drums. He wore an old, tattered apron over his stomach. His pockets were filled with the jingle-jangle of loose pocket change payments. He sold candy to the children of the neighborhood. All the parentless, poor children would pay him half a penny to eat his sweets. Most of them would pay half a penny to escape the horrors of the city.
Somehow, happiness still lingers the streets like discarded dead bodies resting on the sidewalks. The little girl is wearing Mary Janes that her father bought her for a special occasion such as this. Her silken hair is done up in two pig tails held by pink ribbon. She is skipping down the ruins of the cross roads. Her eyes are the same color as the lollipops that the man sells down the street. Her stockings are torn in lazy rivers, but she smiles like none other.
The man whistles despite the fact that everyone else is locked up in their cavern homes. Dead bolted and secure. Windows are shut and periwinkle curtains are drawn shut. The town is seemingly deserted except for the man and the party pigtail girl. She stretches her chubby fingers into her pink plated pockets and her fingernail catches on a hole. All her money is gone. Perhaps in the road or lying on the front step. Her mother and father are no where to be seen.
The man’s whispering whistle blends with the winds overhead and the girl wanders the streets looking for her missing pennies. There is graveling concrete and asphalt underfoot. The air is crisp and it leaves moisture clinging to her bare arms and neck. She shudders through her spine as if expecting the impending doom.
9:57 pm
The night is beginning to seep into the day. The man at the candy stand is starting to tuck his things away. He folds up his table like an ironing board into a wall. He eyes the girl, all alone with no parent by her side to hold her hand as she climbs the barren streets. He shakes his head in shame or despair, but lets her be for it is not his business.
Her shoelace becomes untied and is dragged through the dirt and grime left behind. If she knew how to tie, she would, but she just lets is hang and watches her footing with a careful eye. She is worried that her pennies are left on the stair in front of her house, but she keeps looking and the man begins to leave.
10:09 pm
Suddenly a sound is ripped from the sky. It screeches and tears through the air. The noise is forced down her throat and makes her stomach boil. She covers her ears and the old man looks up to the heavens. Military planes roar overhead. Exhaust tails behind like a snails trail left behind on a Summer blacktop. Towns people rush out of their dead bolted, locked up houses. A few are in their caps and gowns whilst many are still in their party clothes. Everyone looks towards the sky and watch as the planes rip though their small city.
It is a little boy who points at ground level and shouts out over everyone else. Heads turn and some run in the opposite direction. Flames licked at the edged of the town. The ground shakes and ribbons of fire dance up the streets.
The flames rapidly ravage the town, gaining on the innocent villagers and the little girl’s hair bows. The man’s whistle is strangled and diffused as the fire rips the oxygen from his lungs for fuel. All around people are gutted of their breath. The air surrounding the city is dragged down into the center of a fire storm and the flames burst higher, flicking their serpent tongues towards the blackened sky.
The girl is standing on the edge. She watches as the man is skinned alive by the fire. His skin is boiling. His cheek bones are melting. His fingers, crooked and broken with arthritis, shrivel and claw at his throat. His chest deflates as his last breath is thrown from his throat and into the flames.
No one is distinguishable as the fire rapes them of their identities to leave them as pools of blood and bone. Masses of people are melting in the fires and the planes are still roaring overhead. Her hands are covering her ears and she is crying so hard that tears do not come. The houses are burning. Curtains and dead bolts are red with an angry flame. Mothers carrying their children run screaming from the fire of the city. They are crying and their children are crying as ash litters down and sears their cheeks. The smell of burnt bodies hangs in the sky. Death is slowly rampaging this city. Many fall to the burning hand of the flame.
10:33 pm
The fire reaches up and strangles her without a touch. Her lungs fall flat like an empty balloon. Her eyes roll back into skull. She coughs. She sputters like a car with a rusty engine. The fire rolls around her body. Her dress goes up in flames. Rays of red murder lace up her legs and her throat. Her blood is boiling just beyond the surface. Her skin drips from the bones. She is just a mess of blood and fire now. She is just a mess of forgotten memory.