"If I ever have the chance to rewrite our world, all money would turn to coffee."
Pling. Pling. My fingernails rhythmically tap against my "Luckiest rocker of a top-less bikini in the world" mug, while my eyes stare into nothingness. An epiphany. Taking a large sip of the rich, unique flavor, I wonder whether it would pay off to turn that idea into a book. The blazing red spot I subconsciously trained my eyes on, suddenly wiggles. I blink in confusion. Turns out my elder neighbor rocks his potbelly, sunbathing in red swim trunks. I wave at my neighbor's wife who stares at me, obviously distraught. Time to get moving.
I carefully place the porcelain next to me before straightening myself up. Wait. The weather forecast foretold no rain until next Wednesday. Clouds clog the mid-day sky like a thundery font nearing at a rapid pace. I furrow my brows, taking the puddle-gray formation in. Since when do clouds twist like that? As violet-colored lightning illuminates the darkening sky, I finally get a good look at what heads right towards the outskirts of Westerville, Ohio: a tornado.
Everybody loves it when the only day off one get's from superiors, out of generosity, pity or whatever, turns out this way. I bolt through the front door and into the living room screaming. "Sup' mom," Jackson's legs waved from the couch. I round the corner panting, only to be greeted by the sight of the twelve-year-old sitting head-down, watching TV. "What the-" Luckily, my sweet eight-year old Timothy bounces down the stairs to hug me around my waist. "Mummy, how's the run been?" I stare down at my armpits, already drenching my shirt with sweat. "Where is Ian?", I ask in confusion. "You brought him to football practice, don't you remember?", Jackson shrugs, his unruly dark-blonde hair brushing the floor. I groan. "Let's go," I grab my boys by the hands, shoving them out the front door while ignoring their protest.
- "American Dragon starts in three minutes and thirty-three seconds, mum!"
- "I want to eat cake!"
Frighteningly enough, everything below the tornado seems to disappear and strange computer code now colors the sky in devil's-red ones and zeroes. I lift the manhole cover and order everyone inside. A stench wafts from the hole, making Timo scrounge up his nose. "That stinks mum," he gripes, yet as I motion towards the terrifying sky even Jackson rolls his eyes and climbs down. The cover shuts with a bang and I fumble around in my jacket. No phone, no flashlight. Voices concur from above.
- "The cleanse is going great. Those stick figures will make great slaves once we rebuild this world as our own," a nasal voice snickers with self-satisfaction.
- "Those moles never even noticed us living among them," another voice bellows.
- "What's that? An Iphone X?", nasal sqeaks in joy.
- "I just reached level 130 in Angry Birds on your phone," Jackson grumbles.
- "Have you heard that?", nasal squeaked.
YOU ARE READING
Shards of Moonlight || A Short-story Collection
Short StoryHey readers, this book will consist of short stories I compile from different competitions or write for pure fun. I even started collecting prompts I wrote or beginnings of books. It helps me track my progress and I would love for it to be entertain...
