Thursday January 23rd, 2014

The exercise:

Write about: the fireball.

When I was texting Kat about Max's visit to the fire hall, I accidentally typed the building as one word. Autocorrect decided that what I actually meant was fireball. I managed to not notice until Kat replied (making fun of me, obviously).

I caught up on a week's worth of comments today which... still leaves me well behind. Hoping to get all the way back tomorrow and yadda yadda promises to not let it slip again yadda yadda.

Mine:

When he emerged from the shelter beneath what had once been his home, burning debris fell from the sky like hell's rain. After a long look upward he drew his hood over his head, stuffed his hands into his pockets, and began to walk.

Smoke choked the streets of his neighbourhood, limiting his vision to a radius that fluctuated between five and ten meters. He didn't mind that. It meant that he couldn't see what had become of the Miller's across the street, or the Chan's next door, or...

What did bother him, though, was the smell. There was no avoiding it, and thus there was no way for him to not think about its source. All he could do was walk, so he did.

Step by step, alone in a smouldering chaos, he did his best to leave it all behind. To focus on what must come next if he were to survive. Thriving would come later, if it came at all.

As for revenge? That lurked somewhere in the middle distance.