Prompted by: Amanda Siegrist
So damn bright.
Like looking into the sun.
Instinctively, I reach up to shield my face.
It’s too late.
The impact sends my neck whipping backward.
As shrapnel tears through my flesh, blood spurting into my eyes…
I just know.
We’re all dead.
It feels as if my bones have turned to metal and someone has smashed my skull in with a sledgehammer.
I wake up in a cold sweat, heart racing, throat on fire.
It’s not real.
And it takes me a solid minute to realize where I am.
It’s not fucking real.
My ears aren’t ringing. I’m not lying in a crumpled heap on the ground. The pungent smell of copper is nothing but a distant memory. The gritty taste of dirt is only my imagination.
Because it’s not fucking real.
It’s gonna be another sleepless night. I’m no stranger to those. But there’s one difference now…
“Are you okay?”
What’s the prompt for next week, guys?
Make suggestions below. 7 words or less.