The night quiet was ripped apart, jagged edged echoes scarring the dark. She, epicenter of awful knowing, lay quiet and still, struggling to keep from drowning in the echoes. Red and blue lights clawed at the windows, shredding the darkness, sending shadows reeling like banshees about the house. She remained frozen, unwilling, unable, to face what they would find; this time they would not come in and see her, always ready to forgive, holding her son, pleading with him. It was over; he had ended his addiction. Their Narcan wouldn’t bring him back from this shot.
A six sentence story in response to the prompt word “ripped”. Click on over to Unchartered: Recording Life Under the Radar to read more or to enter your own.