Smoke was everywhere. It was hard to make out the houses across the street and the end of street was invisible, obscured by a shifting blue-grey wall of smoke. Each breath she took was gritty with ash and her throat felt as though the inside of it was coated. She tried to breathe through her nose but the smell of things burning was overpowering and kept changing so she couldn't get used to it. After a minute or so she'd unconsciously switch to breathing through her mouth again until the taste became unbearable. There was a boom somewhere behind her, to the south she thought but her sense of direction had never been great. She turned her head and a dull orange glow illuminated the clouds of smoke; if she looked up towards the sky she thought she could make out a thin black trail that might be fresh smoke, something new burning. She wondered how much more there was left to burn. She looked back where she was going again; the street was mercifully empty though she didn't know if the people here had been evacuated or killed. There were stories, when it all started, about evacuations taking place but all she ever saw were signs of missing people. And the occasional corpse lying on the ground or slumped across a patio table or fallen against a lamp-post. Never burned, never touched by flame. She preferred the emptiness as that at least meant that hope wasn't completely lost. She felt in her coat pocket for the scrap of paper she'd written the address on and for a moment her fingers couldn't find it. Panic flooded her and the smoke tasted sharply acrid and stung her eyes as her senses heightened. Then, as she scrabbled, her fingers closed around it and relief washed through her. She pulled it out and re-read it even though she'd memorised it long since. This was Walsh street, and number 17 should be the Pale Haven. Though she could see no signs of house numbers on the houses nearby, and she'd been expecting a business, not a residential address. She walked along, wishing she could see both sides of the street clearly, scanning for house numbers, anything that might give her a clue. Her spirits sank slowly, as she wondered if the Pale Haven might not have survived the burning either. Then, as the end of the street started to be visible in patches through the smoke she suddenly saw a house that seemed cleaner than the rest, grass that wasn't covered in a thick layer of ash, and a tall, spreading tree that looked less gloomy. "Looking for the Pale Haven, miss?" said a voice behind her, and she screamed.
2 comments:
Smoke was everywhere. It was hard to make out the houses across the street and the end of street was invisible, obscured by a shifting blue-grey wall of smoke. Each breath she took was gritty with ash and her throat felt as though the inside of it was coated. She tried to breathe through her nose but the smell of things burning was overpowering and kept changing so she couldn't get used to it. After a minute or so she'd unconsciously switch to breathing through her mouth again until the taste became unbearable.
There was a boom somewhere behind her, to the south she thought but her sense of direction had never been great. She turned her head and a dull orange glow illuminated the clouds of smoke; if she looked up towards the sky she thought she could make out a thin black trail that might be fresh smoke, something new burning. She wondered how much more there was left to burn.
She looked back where she was going again; the street was mercifully empty though she didn't know if the people here had been evacuated or killed. There were stories, when it all started, about evacuations taking place but all she ever saw were signs of missing people. And the occasional corpse lying on the ground or slumped across a patio table or fallen against a lamp-post. Never burned, never touched by flame. She preferred the emptiness as that at least meant that hope wasn't completely lost.
She felt in her coat pocket for the scrap of paper she'd written the address on and for a moment her fingers couldn't find it. Panic flooded her and the smoke tasted sharply acrid and stung her eyes as her senses heightened. Then, as she scrabbled, her fingers closed around it and relief washed through her. She pulled it out and re-read it even though she'd memorised it long since. This was Walsh street, and number 17 should be the Pale Haven. Though she could see no signs of house numbers on the houses nearby, and she'd been expecting a business, not a residential address.
She walked along, wishing she could see both sides of the street clearly, scanning for house numbers, anything that might give her a clue. Her spirits sank slowly, as she wondered if the Pale Haven might not have survived the burning either. Then, as the end of the street started to be visible in patches through the smoke she suddenly saw a house that seemed cleaner than the rest, grass that wasn't covered in a thick layer of ash, and a tall, spreading tree that looked less gloomy.
"Looking for the Pale Haven, miss?" said a voice behind her, and she screamed.
Greg - Woo, that's some atmospheric goodness you got going on here.
And, clearly, you best have continued this already because I will not accept you leaving me hanging like that.
Post a Comment