The Death Farmer
By Theresa C. Newbill
Part one of nine
The house is burning. And for a moment it seems like it is taking in tempestuous breaths between the shooting flames and falling pieces of wood reduced to ash. The moon rose empty, a bad sign, now it passes into the clouds as white waves of smoke disappear among a starless sky. The volunteer firefighters in the small southern town, drunk on bourbon just a few hours before, had no idea they would be standing alone in corridors without passages. Their cries along with those of little Sarah, trapped in her room, echo through the spatial emptiness.
"Where are you Sarah?" Firefighter Steve Padula asks before falling to his knees.
Leaning over him is the shadow of a woman, "I can't find her Steve. I can't find her."
"I've always loved you, Kelly. All I ever wanted was your happiness."
The two of them slip into an embrace as the flames engulf their bodies whole.
The heat continues to rise building pressure.
In the walk in closet of her room, Sarah, lies down with her rag doll Missy, and falls asleep.
The windows explode one by one as isolated blasts start to reduce the home to rubble.
Tears and shock run down Alan Parker's face while he holds his son Mitchell in safety. His other son, Kevin is holding an oxygen mask to his face by the fire trucks, ambulances and police vehicles. All that appears in the distance beyond the mayhem are two large blue eyes belonging to old woman, Clara, holding her black cat, Rowan, who is pushing and flexing his forelegs with half-sheathed claws.
Today, the mail won't come to the Parker estate. Instead the sun will shed its light over the open graveyard, capturing with silence, the frozen faces of death.
- - -
Theresa C. Newbill is a is a self described free spirit and former elementary school teacher turned writer. Her work has been widely published in various print and online magazines and she has received numerous awards for her writing.
By Theresa C. Newbill
Part one of nine
The house is burning. And for a moment it seems like it is taking in tempestuous breaths between the shooting flames and falling pieces of wood reduced to ash. The moon rose empty, a bad sign, now it passes into the clouds as white waves of smoke disappear among a starless sky. The volunteer firefighters in the small southern town, drunk on bourbon just a few hours before, had no idea they would be standing alone in corridors without passages. Their cries along with those of little Sarah, trapped in her room, echo through the spatial emptiness.
"Where are you Sarah?" Firefighter Steve Padula asks before falling to his knees.
Leaning over him is the shadow of a woman, "I can't find her Steve. I can't find her."
"I've always loved you, Kelly. All I ever wanted was your happiness."
The two of them slip into an embrace as the flames engulf their bodies whole.
The heat continues to rise building pressure.
In the walk in closet of her room, Sarah, lies down with her rag doll Missy, and falls asleep.
The windows explode one by one as isolated blasts start to reduce the home to rubble.
Tears and shock run down Alan Parker's face while he holds his son Mitchell in safety. His other son, Kevin is holding an oxygen mask to his face by the fire trucks, ambulances and police vehicles. All that appears in the distance beyond the mayhem are two large blue eyes belonging to old woman, Clara, holding her black cat, Rowan, who is pushing and flexing his forelegs with half-sheathed claws.
Today, the mail won't come to the Parker estate. Instead the sun will shed its light over the open graveyard, capturing with silence, the frozen faces of death.
- - -
Theresa C. Newbill is a is a self described free spirit and former elementary school teacher turned writer. Her work has been widely published in various print and online magazines and she has received numerous awards for her writing.
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