Aaron Bush

Just a locket

The horizon was white as paper. If 6 year old Q (as her parents called her) had not been so distraught, she would have liked to reach out with her small hands and draw on it, just as so many times before she had drawn on her parents walls with her many stumps of crayons. She lived a happy wonderful life, until 20 minutes ago when the sounds began. Deep rumblings that seemed to shake everything that existed. Her parents were nowhere to be found, and this light, this brilliant white light was consuming the once black sky. Streaming from homes like ants from a hill were all her neighbors. Terrified gasps, petrified screams. What was this? As Q fell to the grass, her breath barely coming in stabs through her wracking sobs. She clutched at something warm in her hand. It was the only thing important to her now. Then everything faded.