Horror Short Stories

Flash out of Nowhere

The night was silent: a blanket of darkness covered the city, dousing the bright city lights below a layer of nothingness. Dark clouds welled in the sky, gurgling occasionally, warning us of rain.

There I was, sitting by the balcony, watching life in the city go by. It was a typical Tuesday evening, nothing too rash yet nothing out of the ordinary. Occasionally I looked up to see birds playing in the shattered moonlight that came down from above as the moon hid between the clouds of night. At times the sky gurgled, flashes of lightning lit up the sky above us, the grumbling sound of thunder following by a few seconds.

Though there was something peculiar about it, some of the birds up there were far too noisome than I had known. Not only that, I swear I had never seen a nocturnal eagle, or whatever bird seldom flaps its wings.

Then it came, unheeding us all: a siren, climbing up one moment and climbing down the next, wailing like a ravenous banshee. Commotion began on the streets, yet we knew not what the sirens were about. Many a hair strand on my body rose up, as if honouring an anthem, save for an anthem that was the gurgling of thunder.

Then it came – a flash out of nowhere, a brilliant aura of light and heat encircled the city, radiating from the city centre and out into the outskirts, I shut my eyes and shielded them with my hands, but in the flash so bright it came to me past my hands. I could see my bones below the skin of my hand, as red as the city on Statehood Day. A loud bang followed it, rupturing my eardrums as it surrounded me, as if calling out to me.

The ground trembled at the breath of the monstrous blast; I almost felt like it would split apart and devour me whole, my apartment shook as its ceiling collapsed and windows shattered in the terrifying storm that prevailed about.

A wave of brown dust pushed us away, like the tremendous roar of a tempest, pushing away even the mighty clouds, bringing about the brilliance of day but in a far more horrifying fashion.

The last thing I remembered was gazing upon the cloud – a fading cloud welling up into the shape of a mushroom where the city centre used to be, glazing in vibrant reds and yellows, oranges and browns, saffron and vermillion, and then fading away to let the azure and indigo embrace of night take over. Scarlet the skies gleamed, burning from the immense heat. Our clothes and banners caught fire, turning to ash at the very instant. The whole building collapsed thereafter, taking me with it.

I don't know how it was, but I survived the crash, the rusty metallic appendages of the roof fell over me, forming into an arch, holding back the collapsing building, shielding me from the heavy winds that swept through the city.

I curled up, unable to think or move, taking a foetal position, paralysed in fear. I was crying, I was broken, I was vulnerable. We all were.

I don't know how long I lay there, must've been hours, for when I got out, I could see the sky bright with daylight, yet blackened by char and ash. At last I mustered the courage to walk out, but there was nothing to walk out to. If you ever told me a nest of a hundred million young birds like myself, which glimmers bright and loud even at the darkest hour of night, would one day be naught but dust and concrete rubble, I wouldn't have believed you, never!

I turned west: where once the great towers stood half a kilometre high in the air, was now naught but air, riddled with pollution and swirling clouds of gases.

And then the rain started. At first I thought them to be tranquil showers brought down by the dragons to cleanse our hearts and souls, but then I noticed: it was not our dragon, but theirs, and its rain was as black as the night.

I returned below the covers, trying to avoid the acid rain. The structure I rested below blocked the swirling clouds of wind and water, as if protecting me. The water from the skies fell upon the structure and parted both ways, avoiding me altogether, sparing me from the sweet embrace of death.

I chuckled, I cried, I didn't know how to react. But I wasn't alright, I was broken, I was damaged, I had wounds which would be liable for a yearlong stay in an intensive care unit. My eyelids had burned away in the fire, my skin had charred black, my hair had disappeared, my clothes were little more than bloodied rags, and my possessions but myself.

At last I walked out, the rain had stopped but the air was still black with vie and hatred. Its cold embrace stung my barren skin, as if caressing me with an array of knives. I began to walk, scared and confused, yet I knew not what I should do.

I was too horrified to cry out, it wasn't worth it anyway; nobody would come to save me.

And so I walked on, my bare feet resting on charred ground, blistering and bleeding simultaneously, yet I could not feel it. I could not feel the million shreds and glass I trampled, nor the air as cold as Antarctic winter and simultaneously as hot as Libyan summer.

The thunder cracked above me, yet I flinched not once, it was nothing fearful in front of what was going on.

I was not alone, there was someone beside me, their skin too charred and bloodied, their hair too absent, nothing remained of said walker's personality. And so did another beside me, slightly shorter yet with a face as gaunt as mine, unable to feel.

There stood Death in front of us, waiting with his scythe on the ready, but he too was afraid, his hollow eyes too bore fear, as if telling us an ancient tale.

"Third time," he said to us, "and certainly not the last."