Whistle in the Sky - Flash Fiction
TRIGGER WARNING: War
Whistle in the sky. We run into the hallway and hide.
BANG.
The crash of breaking windows sounds in ballet class. The teacher looks at us, makes sure everyone is alright, and lets out a breath. “Class is over. Call your folks to take you home.”
We know it’s best to go home. The grown-ups need to clean broken glass from the floor and make a temporary fix of the windows. It won’t take long before we can dance in the classroom again.
We know it. We are used to living in a war-zone.
Eight years have passed since it started…
My mom comes to pick me up. I put my hand in hers and we walk home. The sun is shining, broken glass everywhere. One soldier walks in the street with a metal detector in his hands. Another reminds everyone to watch their steps.
It’s not necessary; we know the mines could be anywhere.
The children’s playground near our house is being closed off with tape, so nobody can enter before it can be checked. A neighbor asks the soldier what caused that sound.
“A missle with a fragmentation bomb. Luckily, it didn’t detonate.”
I hurry and squeeze my mom’s hand tighter. The image of a boy my age lying in the playground haunts me. I want to run to the open doors of our apartment building -- those doors are never closed, not since the war started -- but no whistle has sounded, so there’s no need to run.
The house beside our apartment building remains silent, half ruined. Its owners left months ago, after a fragmentation bomb tore it apart. There’s a lot of similar buildings in our city. After eight years, everyone is used to seeing them.
The war is not something you get used to, but you can get accustomed to it. The people of our city are strong. We all want to live. The grown-ups help soldiers clean the roads, removing glass and concrete fragments as soon as the soldiers say it’s safe to go out.
Luckily, the windows of our apartment have not shattered. I go to my room and dance, dance, dance…
Lost in the dance, I forget about the war.
Indulge myself in my dream that once the war ends, I will dance on a large stage.
The night goes silent and the next day comes.
A day without the whistle in the sky.
I raise my eyes to the clear blue sky. Today, no missile will land on our city.
A strong wind gushes past me, ruffling the curls of my hair.
What is falling from the tree?
BANG.
Whistle in the sky. We run into the hallway and hide.
BANG.
The crash of breaking windows sounds in ballet class. The teacher looks at us, makes sure everyone is alright, and lets out a breath. “Class is over. Call your folks to take you home.”
We know it’s best to go home. The grown-ups need to clean broken glass from the floor and make a temporary fix of the windows. It won’t take long before we can dance in the classroom again.
We know it. We are used to living in a war-zone.
Eight years have passed since it started…
My mom comes to pick me up. I put my hand in hers and we walk home. The sun is shining, broken glass everywhere. One soldier walks in the street with a metal detector in his hands. Another reminds everyone to watch their steps.
It’s not necessary; we know the mines could be anywhere.
The children’s playground near our house is being closed off with tape, so nobody can enter before it can be checked. A neighbor asks the soldier what caused that sound.
“A missle with a fragmentation bomb. Luckily, it didn’t detonate.”
I hurry and squeeze my mom’s hand tighter. The image of a boy my age lying in the playground haunts me. I want to run to the open doors of our apartment building -- those doors are never closed, not since the war started -- but no whistle has sounded, so there’s no need to run.
The house beside our apartment building remains silent, half ruined. Its owners left months ago, after a fragmentation bomb tore it apart. There’s a lot of similar buildings in our city. After eight years, everyone is used to seeing them.
The war is not something you get used to, but you can get accustomed to it. The people of our city are strong. We all want to live. The grown-ups help soldiers clean the roads, removing glass and concrete fragments as soon as the soldiers say it’s safe to go out.
Luckily, the windows of our apartment have not shattered. I go to my room and dance, dance, dance…
Lost in the dance, I forget about the war.
Indulge myself in my dream that once the war ends, I will dance on a large stage.
The night goes silent and the next day comes.
A day without the whistle in the sky.
I raise my eyes to the clear blue sky. Today, no missile will land on our city.
A strong wind gushes past me, ruffling the curls of my hair.
What is falling from the tree?
BANG.
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by
Cassia
(last edited Sep 05, 2022 05:57AM)
(new)
Sep 04, 2022 09:01AM
This is so subtly powerful. I love how moving it is and how you managed to create this highly charged story - a complete story - in so few words. Well done.
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So intense in so few words. Lovely and sad at the same time.
Thank you. This story came to me in the middle of the night, asking to be published. The flash was the best solution to convey the message.
It's my muses that need to be credited. I'm just their medium.
