The Falling

Chapter 3

I open my eyes and remain still for a few seconds, trying to remember how to breathe. I try to sit up and wince. Every time I moved, it felt like searing hot metal was flowing all throughout my body. I try to push myself up on my hands but only manage to let out a yelp of pain. I lay back down and get a good look around the room. All the stuff from all around the basement is strewn everywhere. The tv lies, face down, with glass from the screen encircling it, just a few feet from where I am. I try again to sit up, this time with more success. I slowly stand up and see that I didn't completely miss the glass from the tv, as some small pieces were imbedded in my skin. I brush most of it off and slowly pull out the bigger pieces.

"Grandpa!" I call out, "Grandpa, help!" I wait for the sound of
I look up at the door that leads down to the basement. There's a big crack right down the middle of it. I start walking over to the stairs, with a bad limp, and start to carefully climb them, avoiding steps that are now broken or look like that might break at any minute. I reach the door and touch the handle only to have the door completely split in half. I edge my way around the broken door and step into the living room.

The entire house looks like a miniature tornado flew through. There's broken glass and garbage everywhere. The window is broken and it looks like a stray cat must have flew in and got shredded by all the fragments. I look down at the small black and white and now red lump of a cat, with broken glass in it. Recognizing it as the neighbors cat, Tyson, I bend down to observe the damage. I let out a sob as the mauled cat lets out the most pitiful meow. Moving the trash, I check to see if there is anything I can do to help it. It turns out most of the broken glass is just lying on him, but there are two pieces jagged glass in the front right leg and back left. I manage to take out the one in the front with no bleeding. The back leg, however, made Tyson cry out in pain. I look around for something that could make a bandage. I see one of my moms old dish rags, grab it and tear it into pieces. I hold Tyson down and quickly pull out the piece of glass. Almost instantly it begins to bleed and I quickly wrap and tie the makeshift bandages. I almost fall back as he actually gets up and starts moving. Then he starts limping and falls. I contemplate on leaving him. I quickly disregard that as an option and pick him up in my arms like a baby.

"Don't get used to this." I tell him.

I make my way over to the front door, only to find out it has been completely ripped off its hinges. I step outside and almost collapse, succeeding in dropping Tyson. The scene in front of me looks like it could belong in a textbook about world war aftermath. All the houses down the street looked like they'd been worked over with an enormous sledgehammer and then left to rot. There are giant cracks in the streets, one house was partly caved in and looked like the rest could fall in at anytime, I even see dead person in the road.

I look up. The sky is a bloody orange, which under different circumstances would have been very pretty. I hold my watch up and it tells me that it is 7:42 pm. How the hell did I manage to stay unconscious for the entire day! I run back into the house and into my room. Where everything is everywhere. On the floor is my backpack amidst all the debris. All the stuff I had gathered just in case something like this happened was in this bag and another safe place I prayed hadn't been damaged. It seems somewhat cruel, but in my head I picture me pointing at all the dead people who had called me weird and laughing.

Gently, I put Tyson down and pick up the bag. I pick him back up and start heading outside again to check my house, careful not step on anything sharp. I'm about to leave when I remember that my grandpa was a rancher and always used to carry a belt with two revolvers and holsters on it and an old Winchester. I manage to trudge my way over to his room and see that the door is mostly broken down. I find no reason to try to open the door and just kick what's left down. Grandpa's room is exactly like the rest of the house, destroyed. Grandpa has his Winchester on a mount over his bed and I know he has his revolvers in his closet after sneaking around in his room one day. Climbing over a fallen dresser, I find the Winchester lying on the bed still on it's mount. I unclasp two strips of metal holding the gun to the mount and hold it up. It's a very nice gun, clean with an old, rustic feel. It has quite a bit of weight to it, too. There is a leather strap on the gun which feels strong and rough with age. At the end of the stock was the family seal of an old mythological bird that shot feathers of steel at people. The name of the bird leaves my mind.

Mom always asked Grandpa if he kept it loaded to which he would reply, "You really think I would keep a loaded gun in the house with this crazy juvenile delinquent," and he'd then wink at me. I check the gun and it turns out it has a bullet in it. Sneaky gramps. Searching for more bullets I start thinking about Mom, Lilly, Carlos, and my stepdad, Dave. I knew my mom was at work and Dave was at an interview, but it only just occurred to me that my siblings and grandpa are gone.

The bullets are in the top shelf of the fallen dresser. There are some for the Winchester and the revolvers in little boxes. I grab all of the boxes and put them in my pack. Slinging the gun over my shoulder, I head to the closet to look for the revolvers.

Tyson, who I had picked up and put on the bed, started hissing. I turn around to check on him and here loud thuds outside the room. At first, it sounded like boots on a wood floor, but then I decided it was more like a hammer breaking into a wall. Excited, thinking it may be my mom or somebody, I start heading for the door, but immediately stop when a twisted tree branch comes in through the top of the doorway and bashes a hole in the wall. Startled, I get a better look at it and realize it is not a tree branch but an arm that had reached through the doorway. I grab Tyson and duck behind the bed opposite side of the arm. I peak up and see how I mistook the arm for a branch. It was covered in boils and looked like burnt chicken, charred and black. After observing the arm, the rest of the body swung in through the door, hanging from its firm hold in the wall. Had I not been frozen in terror I would've screamed when I recognized the face. It was Grandpa.