THE WRONG PLACE

The ground started to shake, a tree shook and swayed its branches, tiles and slate fell from the roof tops to smash on the pathways and gardens below.

Lights started to turn on in the houses of Trunksvile Pastures, New foundland, as car alarms were set off.

Mini yet powerfull quakes came often in all directions roads and bridges in and out collapsed and broke up isolating the homes from the countryside they’d been built in the middle of.

People came out of their homes in pyjamas and dressing gowns to whiteness the devistation. At that moment a shallow rumble that knocked the people to the ground below out all the windows, more tiles fell and a few chimney stacks fell inwards. Then came the rumble not from the ground but under it, something was on the move.

One man watched his neighbour get impailed by a giant root with thorns , it rose taking his body with it, twisting and growing as it aimed skyward, his neighbour’s body fell away ripped in two. Watching this happen more than once the man tried to run back into his home, the explosion knocked him back across what was once a fresh cut lawn, just as he regained his wind and focused his eyes his head was crushed by the boiler blown from the house.

A mere 2 hours later all 80 homes of Trunksvile Pastures were gone all that can be seen in its place is a great vine wood.

Ding Ding, Ding Ding

A young boy in a black suit with red tie on a tricycle also red rides away a satisfied grin on his face.

FIN