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The Last Night.
Raven looks up the three flights of stairs which led to her room. Her blue eyes trace each step until her reflection catches her eye. The window closest to her shows a pale girl with fake dyed purple hair, tired blue eyes, and a pair of pinkish lips.
“No problem,” she mumbles, tired and drained from work that day; its well past midnight. Rain beats the windows by the stairs and lightening brightens the way as it strikes somewhere close.
As she takes the first step, she notices that her parents are fighting again. Thunder drowns them out with its timed approach.
Lightening lashes out again, showing Raven her mothers vibrant blood red hair. Raven also notices her father, his hair graying with stress, his face dark with years of hard work. Its such a contrast to her mother, perfect in every way.
The thunder startles her, making the windows shudder and seeming to halt time. Time… that was fickle. Whoever said thunder was on a schedule?
She’s on the second floor now, wishing that she could have chosen a bedroom down here. At least she only needed another flight of stairs before she could go to bed; sleep through her parents argument like her sister, who was asleep on the couch in the living room.
Raven takes the steps a little faster, her walking covered by a crescendo of rain as it fell in sheets against the glass.
At the top of the steps, time slows. Raven sees her mothers hand raise, though she doesn’t process it. Her parents had never gotten physical.
Then her mother swings the left hand wide. Ravens father dodges narrowly, his eye catches his daughters.
Then Raven is falling in silence, the world doesn’t dare breathe.
Thunder crashes, shattering the windows the same moment Raven hits the first step. The glass joins her decent, like a physical being beside her as she tumbles end over end down to the tiled bottom.
Lightening brightens the hall once more, lighting the stage of a broken girl and her broken family.
Thunder rumbles softly at the loss. A puddle of blood forms under Ravens head.
A last time, lightening strikes; it fades with her final breath.
She sees her fall all over again, going backwords. No falling, no hit, no dodge. Not a spec of lightening, no murmur of thunder.
The world wants to take back the blood stained tiles.
There is no last thunder clap.
© Karia FelWell
“No problem,” she mumbles, tired and drained from work that day; its well past midnight. Rain beats the windows by the stairs and lightening brightens the way as it strikes somewhere close.
As she takes the first step, she notices that her parents are fighting again. Thunder drowns them out with its timed approach.
Lightening lashes out again, showing Raven her mothers vibrant blood red hair. Raven also notices her father, his hair graying with stress, his face dark with years of hard work. Its such a contrast to her mother, perfect in every way.
The thunder startles her, making the windows shudder and seeming to halt time. Time… that was fickle. Whoever said thunder was on a schedule?
She’s on the second floor now, wishing that she could have chosen a bedroom down here. At least she only needed another flight of stairs before she could go to bed; sleep through her parents argument like her sister, who was asleep on the couch in the living room.
Raven takes the steps a little faster, her walking covered by a crescendo of rain as it fell in sheets against the glass.
At the top of the steps, time slows. Raven sees her mothers hand raise, though she doesn’t process it. Her parents had never gotten physical.
Then her mother swings the left hand wide. Ravens father dodges narrowly, his eye catches his daughters.
Then Raven is falling in silence, the world doesn’t dare breathe.
Thunder crashes, shattering the windows the same moment Raven hits the first step. The glass joins her decent, like a physical being beside her as she tumbles end over end down to the tiled bottom.
Lightening brightens the hall once more, lighting the stage of a broken girl and her broken family.
Thunder rumbles softly at the loss. A puddle of blood forms under Ravens head.
A last time, lightening strikes; it fades with her final breath.
She sees her fall all over again, going backwords. No falling, no hit, no dodge. Not a spec of lightening, no murmur of thunder.
The world wants to take back the blood stained tiles.
There is no last thunder clap.
© Karia FelWell
