A bit of micro-fiction, fictlet, flash fiction or prose, whatever you want to call it. I’m still not 100% satisfied with it, but I never am, so meh.
…and they all fall down...
It was on the third step up to the second floor when he stumbled. Unable to feel his legs, he knew what was coming next.
Digging frantically into his inside coat pocket he found the pill bottle.
‘Eight years.’ he mutters wearily, popping the cap off and throwing the few remaining pills into his mouth.
The pills won’t stop it. But instead of the room, it will be more like the next house over.
After one hard swallow, her screaming starts.
Everyone knows animals can sense it, but so can we, if you’re wired right. It’s like a small vibration inside your core, like the misplaced adrenaline from that near bar fight, when you were young and dumb.
Then you hear it, the growling snores from a giant you don’t want to wake up, but then he does. And then the earth turns on you, direction and time join in the brutal beating.
The house holds him down for the count.
The pain, the sound of the world breaking around him, the angry giant, it all stops when the screaming starts.
“Emily?” he whispers to the room. She was upstairs eating breakfast, why does she sound like she is in the next room?
“Em!” he shouts out in any direction.
The screaming goes on
“Em! It’s daddy!” he screams out, “I can’t…I can’t move..”
The screaming goes on
“Em, Emily honey, you have to talk to me, tell me what is wrong,” he shouts through the dust around his head
The screaming goes on
The house shifts, snapping his attention back. His own screams match perfectly with his daughter’s for a few synchronous moments
“Emily Dawn! Listen to me, you need to stop right now!” he demanded
The screaming goes on
How? It’s not possible…so small…
The screaming goes on
He struggles, pushing against the house, the world, the fear
The screaming goes on
“Fuck!” slamming his head on the floor, “SHUT UP! Shut Up, shut up, shut…”
The screaming goes on
My god, please, please make it stop, he prays
…
The third step presses hard against his cheek, his legs sore, but moving again. Each time he prays it is the last, but some prays come true while others never do






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