Thanks for stopping by on your Sunday blog-hop. This week’s WeWriWa snippet. is from an old piece I’ve dusted off and decided to try to work on again. In this scene, our survival-ready guy (one of the issues I have yet to name my main man), having woken up under his one piece of furniture not bolted to the walls, leaves his home. After what he assumes was an earthquake or blast of some sort, he stumbles to the edge of his neighbour’s property, seeing a child’s shoe poking from the twisted remain of a playground.
Taking a deep breath cleared the spots from my vision and I ran. I fell to my knees in front of the flattened, red, plastic tunnel, trying to get a better view. I could see Michael Gibson, motionless, his blonde curls matted with dark blood, his eyes closed as though he were taking a nap. Reaching into my bag I pulled out a crowbar and levered the wood plank off the boy’s leg. He slid the rest of the way down, landing in a broken heap on my knees. Fingers to his thin neck, I held my breath. I felt a hopeful flutter and scooped him up, sprinting towards the two-story country home. Opening the door, I saw that the Gibson’s kitchen had anything bolted to the walls.
“Michael! Oh my God! Michael! Michael! Dean, get in here!” Mrs. Gibson was sitting against the flowered kitchen wall, her green fridge across her thighs, her slender feet at odd angles poking form underneath.
Thanks again for stopping by and reading! Don’t forget to check out other great writers pariticpatning in this week’s #8Sunday at http://www.wewriwa.com/