Sand Blast - written 2017 - Copyright Jag Aoti
Chapter 1 – The Cut
The explosion ripped down the center of main street like a butterfly emerging from a cocoon. A silver haired lady was tossed to the side, groaning as she crunched against a stone pillar of a towering city bank and slid to the ground. A boy no older than twenty, with his hair slicked upwards, sides shaved, and his face striped in bright blue, hurled over as a park bench spun into his gut and tore through his ribcage. Gore erupted everywhere as thick grey smoke engulfed the narrow street.
A parked patrol car began to slide downwards, towards the explosion’s cut, and took with it it’s blue-uniformed driver with his side-arm outstretched. The car caught an edge and began to tumble inward, and along with its captain was erased from the scene with a substantial crunch.
A clock nearby banged once – 1PM – and time seemed to accelerate as those still standing began to run – sprint – towards both ends of the short main street of Hioati. Cries from a baby stroller engulfed the airwaves, as it too began to slide towards the center. Its wheel began to turn and the seat began to tip.
As fast as it had slid inward, a jet black haired man with tattoos engraved across his sun-browned bare chest scooped up the stroller and ran it to the safety of a sidewalk just beyond the cut, stepping on the wheel breaks as he left it in safety.
Jackson Murphy was in shock. As the ringing overtook his hearing, his focus returned and watched dust settled around him, drifting down like snowflakes and landing gently upon a desperate scene of death, destruction and chaos. A cat missing it’s left hind leg left a trail of blood as it meowed and scrambled down the concrete beside him.
Out of the corner of his eye, Jackson could see what was left of a man hanging on to the edge of the cut, no legs beneath his torso. The man’s screams intensified as his fingernails tore against the pavement, and just as Jackson began running towards him, the screams distanced as he slipped downward, out of sight.
His black denim jeans had saved his knees from his abrupt collapse, but Jackson’s newest white t-shirt was torn and blood soaked from the pain in his left shoulder all the way down to his rough leather belt. He could make out just the tip of his bright red Boston ball cap laying in a pile of ash across the cavern that now replaced what was the street only seconds ago. His head felt as if every inch of his thick brown hair would soon explode. The taste of blood and dirt overwhelmed his senses.
Jackson staggered forward, knees still bent, as he saw others crawling to the edge of the cut and looking down.
He peered into the endless darkness below.
Amongst the howls of dogs and cries of babies and their mothers, he whispered
“Cindy”
And a pain over took him greater than he’d ever felt before.