Jonah Blue Krell
Stories (2/0)
The Sunken City
The few who survived the flash sauntered along the barren road in a bleary daze. Exhausted and stupefied, a band of ragged and disheveled youths dragged their footsteps along against the blazing heat. The pack was led by a boy of sixteen. Behind him trudged ten, six boys and four girls, all younger and (more unsure of themselves). It was Luke’s naturally assertive and commanding demeanor that convinced the reluctant children to depart from the ruined town in search of other survivors. The troop of kids were playing within an old bunker when death swept across the land and decimated everything within its path. When the deafening crash thundered across the sky, the children hurried up the ladder, and in vain, pushed against the hatch. The howling wind of a thousand gales pressurized against the vault and trapped the children for four days. When the wind ceased, it was immediately noticeable; it was as if someone were clapping cymbals in their ears without pause for days on end and suddenly relented. In fact, the abrupt quietude filled the air almost as quickly as did the howling, and from their restless sleep did the children awaken and anxiously scramble up the ladder. The open air was clogged with a thick layer of sand and sent the children immediately into fits of coughing. The wind, although distinctly calmer, still blew turbulently. The sky was a terrible haze of deep orange and sanguine streaks, and against the dust, the sun struggled to pierce through. Fine sand particles moving through the turbulent gusts of air scratched at the children’s exposed eyes and effectively blinded them, sending the investigation party back beneath the ground.The sand-beaten children sat rubbing at their irritated eyes, while those who had remained underground waited impatiently for a report.
By Jonah Blue Krell3 years ago in Fiction
Without A Day's End
When Josie awoke, a peculiar feeling stirred her through and through. The night was pitched in darkness and the silence was deafening. Not the stridulating of the smallest insect did she hear. On the farm, she would often awaken during the night to the sound of the crickets chirping their monotonous anthem. It was an unsettling feeling that arose from the sheer quietude, so much so that she compelled herself to strip back the bedsheets and inspect the house. The house was engulfed in the same blackness, but this did not disturb Josie. It was 12:30 in the morning and it would be stranger if the lights were on than off. She minced through the house on tiptoes and out the front door, onto the porch. The air was motionless and the starlight scarcely exposed the outlines of the trees. The street lights were off and the buzzing of the telephone lines was faint. Back inside, Josie poured a glass of water and climbed the stairs. She crawled back into bed and drifted off to sleep.
By Jonah Blue Krell3 years ago in Fiction