The mushroom cloud bloomed in the distance, reaching out its cotton arms into a great circle in the sky, swirling rings surrounding the stalk as it grew, towering overhead. The air surrounding was silent for a few moments as we gazed upon the growing plume, but my ears were filled with a sharp ring lingering from the shockwaves. It slowly faded as the rumbling began; the earth beneath our trembling feet shook, sending dust and dirt and small rocks bouncing in all directions.
I remembered something I’d read once, and held up my hand towards the explosion, as far as I could reach, my thumb sticking straight up. The mushroom cloud dwarfed the thumb by far, and I let my arm drop.
A deep, terrible rumbling sounded all around me, steadily growing in intensity as a thick ring surrounding the base of the cloud rushed out. It tore up the ground, and I could see houses crumbling just before they got engulfed by the fumes. Quickly, it raced towards me, blotting out the darkening sky.
I closed my eyes.
YOU ARE READING
Twisted Dreams
PoetryA collection of short stories, poems, and half-written ramblings. ~•°•°-----------------------------------《☆》 dream \ ˈdrēm \ 1 : a series of thoughts, visions, or feelings that happen during sleep ~•°•°-----------------------------------《☆》 night·m...
