While I was thinking up this latest and greatest blog post, I remembered seeing something on el internet. I remember seeing a writing prompt that said to write a page of a story that could become a novel. And so that's exactly what I did. Enjoy!
The day had started out the same as any other. I woke up at approximately 6:00 am and trudged downstairs to find a hot cup of chocolate waiting for me. I had gotten ready without a thought on my mind other than where and when I would be able to write next. I had run out the door in a flurry of a schoolbag and a lonely flute. The bus had the same teenager smell to it as it had yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that, and as long as the bus had lived.
The day was the same until I heard the bells clang together, a cacophony of mixed up late bells and lunch bells. Ear-splitting noise continued to sound for a whole minute before finally, a mangled voice came on over the intercom. With the words that he said next, full-blown panic rose in the air. Teachers, unprepared and unwarned, frantically led us to the rooms underneath the rooms, herded us through doorways, and shoved us under desks.
In the dirt of the basement where I was, I hid behind boxes filled with dusty, forgotten school utensils and supplies, waiting for the chaos to end. Guns went off, and the shake of the building rattled my teeth after every bomb that dropped. Screams sounded all around me, and I muffled my own with the fabric of my plaid shirt. Set after set of heavy boots pounding on the floor which had created a discordant melody that lingers in my head even today.
Silent tears flowed down my face as my friends were captured and taken away from safety one by one; their next moment of safety unknown, if at all. My breath quickened when the boxes above and around me were disturbed. My fortress had many layers to it all around me. I could feel the sweat of one boy-I didn’t bother knowing who it was-coming off his arm and onto mine. On my other side, my very best friend clutched my hand. We were all very small, cramped up in a small place where only one person should be allowed to fit. I guess that’s why, when the unknown boy was ripped away from me by a pair of villainous hands, nobody even bothered to see if there were any more of us in the little fortress of boxes.
Logan, my very best friend, continued to cut off my circulation with the tightness of his hand around mine. I wanted to comfort him, and tell him that it was all right, but what would I say. I was just a little girl, just as frightened as he was; what was I to do, except let him hold my sweaty hand. We cringed and winced every time a scream filled the air, or when a bomb far above us dropped.
Eventually, after what felt like days, the noise around us stopped. The footfalls of the soldiers faded until they were absent all together. The sounds of bullets ripping through the walls exited our ears. The distant bombs left us alone. We waited even longer in that little space, just to be sure that everyone was gone.
We only left because the pains of hunger was too much to bear. Logan and I held hands as we climbed the flights of stairs that were between us and fresh air. Our eyes watered from the smoke that permeated the air. Logan pointed to the floor, and we decided to crawl. While we made our escape from the ravaged school, I let my voice go. What I thought would be a mighty scream was barely a croaked whisper when I yelled, “Help!” We both attempted to scream this word over and over again. I don’t remember exactly how it happened-I was so delirious and water deprived-but I know that Logan and I found water. We survived.
*I recalled these memories as I stared at the never-ending rubble before me.*
This is beautiful. Seriously, let me know when you write this book because I want to read it.
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