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Entry tags:
The Burrow
Title: A Tragedy and a Rainbow
Author: eiremauve
Rating: PG
Warnings: Off-screen death of thousands of civilians
Word Count: 508
Prompt: Good Omens
A/N: Based on a true story. This probably should have been a poem. >_<
One bright fall morning, my family was gathered around Mom’s computer looking at the path of Hurricane Erin. Dramatic as it was, I had to go upstairs to the schoolroom in the attic to deal with my arch-nemesis: math. Homeschooling has advantages, but sadly one still has to do math. I was plugging away when I suddenly heard the sound of thundering feet.
“The United States is under attack!” my brother Mat shouted.
“What?” I said, completely stunned. I had a vision of airplanes flying over a map of the US and dropping bombs.
We sat there in total silence until Mom came up, hands shaking.
“Suicide bombers attacked New York City and Washington D.C. and they’re worried about Boston.”
“Boston!?” I said, horrified. My beloved city attacked, on top of goddess knows how many people dying.
“Buildings can be replaced. People can’t.” Mom said. She sounded so upset, I gave her a hug.
We talked about the terrible certainty of war coming in a kind of numb fog. After Mom left, we tried to do school work.
“In World War Two, students did their work.” I informed him.
He gave me the look only annoyed little brothers can give and went downstairs. I attempted to do work, but it was no use. What did I care what X equaled?
I got up and looked out the small window in the school, which gave a good look of the town’s street. It was a classic fall New England scene-lovely blue sky, leaves just starting to turn orange and red and yellow. It was the sort of day that people come from Florida to see. And yet, lots of innocent blood had been spilled this day. I went downstairs.
We spent a lot of time just staring at the TV that day, finding out about the Twin Towers, the Pentagon, and Pennsylvania. Words crawled by on the ticker, telling a tale of nightmares. Images that should belong on disaster movies were playing on the news. Seeing the towers fall, the Pentagon a total mess.
My uncle, my mother’s brother, worked in the Pentagon. He is going to retire shortly.
“There’s an 80% chance he wasn’t where the plane hit. “ My dad was trying to be reassuring. Work had been cancelled for that day, so he had come home early. Professors from my dad’s college had been dropping by all day.
A soft rain started to fall as we tried to figure out where his cubicle was. We had taken a tour of the pentagon just that summer.
The phone ran.
“Hello? This is the Williams house-Scott! You’re alive!” Mom exclaimed.
They talked for a while. He explained how a huge filing cabinet had saved his life, how the man in the next cubicle had died, how he along with everyone else had been recruited to try to clean everything up.
‘Look!” said Jason, pointing out the window of the parlor. It was a beautiful double rainbow shining through the gloom, promising and reassuring. It gave us all hope.
Author: eiremauve
Rating: PG
Warnings: Off-screen death of thousands of civilians
Word Count: 508
Prompt: Good Omens
A/N: Based on a true story. This probably should have been a poem. >_<
One bright fall morning, my family was gathered around Mom’s computer looking at the path of Hurricane Erin. Dramatic as it was, I had to go upstairs to the schoolroom in the attic to deal with my arch-nemesis: math. Homeschooling has advantages, but sadly one still has to do math. I was plugging away when I suddenly heard the sound of thundering feet.
“The United States is under attack!” my brother Mat shouted.
“What?” I said, completely stunned. I had a vision of airplanes flying over a map of the US and dropping bombs.
We sat there in total silence until Mom came up, hands shaking.
“Suicide bombers attacked New York City and Washington D.C. and they’re worried about Boston.”
“Boston!?” I said, horrified. My beloved city attacked, on top of goddess knows how many people dying.
“Buildings can be replaced. People can’t.” Mom said. She sounded so upset, I gave her a hug.
We talked about the terrible certainty of war coming in a kind of numb fog. After Mom left, we tried to do school work.
“In World War Two, students did their work.” I informed him.
He gave me the look only annoyed little brothers can give and went downstairs. I attempted to do work, but it was no use. What did I care what X equaled?
I got up and looked out the small window in the school, which gave a good look of the town’s street. It was a classic fall New England scene-lovely blue sky, leaves just starting to turn orange and red and yellow. It was the sort of day that people come from Florida to see. And yet, lots of innocent blood had been spilled this day. I went downstairs.
We spent a lot of time just staring at the TV that day, finding out about the Twin Towers, the Pentagon, and Pennsylvania. Words crawled by on the ticker, telling a tale of nightmares. Images that should belong on disaster movies were playing on the news. Seeing the towers fall, the Pentagon a total mess.
My uncle, my mother’s brother, worked in the Pentagon. He is going to retire shortly.
“There’s an 80% chance he wasn’t where the plane hit. “ My dad was trying to be reassuring. Work had been cancelled for that day, so he had come home early. Professors from my dad’s college had been dropping by all day.
A soft rain started to fall as we tried to figure out where his cubicle was. We had taken a tour of the pentagon just that summer.
The phone ran.
“Hello? This is the Williams house-Scott! You’re alive!” Mom exclaimed.
They talked for a while. He explained how a huge filing cabinet had saved his life, how the man in the next cubicle had died, how he along with everyone else had been recruited to try to clean everything up.
‘Look!” said Jason, pointing out the window of the parlor. It was a beautiful double rainbow shining through the gloom, promising and reassuring. It gave us all hope.
ROAR
Thank you for sharing.
I like the fact that you recognize that you father used "80%..." as a way of distancing himself from emotion. When ever numbers are brought into an emotional piece they feel like ice water.
I would have like to have read the two last paragraphs from "Hello..." at the top, as the first paragraphs. The first paragraph is not strong enough for this story. It also immediately brings us to those hopes and fears that we all felt on that day. There is no worry that the rest of the piece won't hold our attention.
Thank you for this. It is well written and heart felt!
Re: ROAR