It Crackles A Story by





Once lively lilac becomes a dying, rotting, lifeless grey and quickly becomes black without hesitation.

It crackles.

They slept, silently, unknowingly, unaware they were the victims. The smell floods the hall,

first grade crafts for mom, dad's work schedule, the receipts from last week's dentist appointment;

everything becomes non existent.

Thick overwhelming air, the air that pollutes, destroys as it grows further down the hall, robbing any oxygen, vitality.

Family photos, captured memories, all erased in one blackened sweep as their faces warp with the increasingly intense heat. A hallway framed with memories is no longer recognizable, just as they've all become.

Why is this happening? A choke, a silent confused cry for help, slowly vanishes in the crackle. Air can't reach the starving lungs. The friction between her elbows on the living room rug, pushing to make it to freedom, to air. The grass on her palms never felt so incredible. She takes each breath in with force, increasingly worried force.

The glare, blinding, it smothers and brightens the small neighbourhood all at once. It crackles.

She reaches for him, her daughters, only finding empty space on the front lawn.

They arrive dressed in safety, taking her away, but she knows she shouldn't be the only one.

Her mind reaches a halt, she opens her eyes and sees white. A fluorescent awakening paralyzes her in sheets she can’t seem to recognize.

The nurses come in, hold her down, and help her take her daily dose of red and white breakfast intended to extinguish the panic that arrives as she realizes where she is.. Her eyes widen, tears building with each deep breath as she focuses intensely on the fluorescent light hanging above her head. White light exposes her fortunate, miserable pale skin draped by cheap cotton.

She asks herself in agony, "God what have I done?"

The sound of wall paper peeling itself off the walls, as curtains dance violently in the heat.Once lively lilac becomes a dying, rotting, lifeless grey and quickly becomes black without hesitation.It crackles.They slept, silently, unknowingly, unaware they were the victims. The smell floods the hall,first grade crafts for mom, dad's work schedule, the receipts from last week's dentist appointment;everything becomes non existent.Thick overwhelming air, the air that pollutes, destroys as it grows further down the hall, robbing any oxygen, vitality.Family photos, captured memories, all erased in one blackened sweep as their faces warp with the increasingly intense heat. A hallway framed with memories is no longer recognizable, just as they've all become.Why is this happening? A choke, a silent confused cry for help, slowly vanishes in the crackle. Air can't reach the starving lungs. The friction between her elbows on the living room rug, pushing to make it to freedom, to air. The grass on her palms never felt so incredible. She takes each breath in with force, increasingly worried force.The glare, blinding, it smothers and brightens the small neighbourhood all at once. It crackles.She reaches for him, her daughters, only finding empty space on the front lawn.They arrive dressed in safety, taking her away, but she knows she shouldn't be the only one.Her mind reaches a halt, she opens her eyes and sees white. A fluorescent awakening paralyzes her in sheets she can’t seem to recognize.The nurses come in, hold her down, and help her take her daily dose of red and white breakfast intended to extinguish the panic that arrives as she realizes where she is.. Her eyes widen, tears building with each deep breath as she focuses intensely on the fluorescent light hanging above her head. White light exposes her fortunate, miserable pale skin draped by cheap cotton.She asks herself in agony, "God what have I done?" © 2019 ralraz

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Reviews Srchaud I liked it. A short poetic story about someone burning down there house with the family inside. Creepy chilling and yet beautiful(not in the creepy way).

The decriptions of all the stuff of there lives going up in flames was vivid and really added to the piece. What makes it so sad and personal is all the stuff being burned is something we all have.

Then going to the women in jail a hosptial or asylum was a nice touch to an already hunting piece. then the cherry on the sundae so to speak(ignore the cliche) was the fact she regretted it. God what have I done the realization its her fault is the final heymaker to take you out.

Good job, enjoyable fun style, that reminds people writing is about being creative.



Posted 2 Years Ago

Rating /100

A Story by ralraz