Friday, January 21, 2011

Rainbow explosions pop harmlessly against the low gray clouds in an orange fourth of July skyscape. Orange? The ordinary black backdrop of this patriotic evening has, for the moment, been replaced. I look down at the brick floor of my patio, thinking about nothing at all, my mind a post-apocalyptic-ly boring landscape.
"Oh my god..." Kelly's stunned whisper-shout reaches my ears through a thick haze, "...they've dropped the bomb."
My face snaps vertical. I've always feared nuclear holocaust. There are a few ways I don't want to die, and this is one of them.
There's no need to scan the horizon - I immediately ascertain that many miles in the distance, beneath the sparkling rockets, is an ominous ashen mushroom cloud.
"Where is that?" the words practically dribble off my lips. I'm thinking about which places might be appealing to blow up, wondering why L.A. wasn't the first choice. I'm worried for Kelly, and my family. I'm worried that I won't survive, and the darkly ironic implications of America's national holiday being nuked are not lost on me.
I want to reassure Kelly, but no words come out.

1 comment:

  1. I like this. My favorite part is "...the words practically dribble off my lips." That's so new. It's a good capture of that dumb, numb, terrorized dream-feeling.

    I think that the images are evocative enough for you to take out some of the adjectives here, like "harmlessly", "ominous", and especially "post-apocalyptic-ly". Rather than sharpening meaning, those words make you work for/wait for it.

    You might also think about editing out the narrative of your worry. It's pretty deadpan, and kind of kills my own worry as a reader. Maybe insert some images of what exactly you're worried about instead.