The sun was beginning to set as I left the game center, the sky painted in hues of orange and purple. I hadn't planned on staying this late, but time had a way of disappearing when I was with my friends. We'd been at it for hours, laughing and competing in one game after another. I checked the time on my phone—7:05 p.m. Dad would be heading home from the office right about now.
I shoved my hands into my pockets and started walking, the streets of Brightmeadow unusually quiet for this time of night. The cool breeze was welcome, brushing past my face and helping me shake off the lingering excitement of the day. I wasn't in a hurry. After all, it was just another regular night.
Or so I thought.
As I rounded the corner near the main street, I noticed something strange. People—groups of them—were running. At first, it seemed like an ordinary rush of late commuters trying to catch a bus, but the looks on their faces told a different story. Fear. It was etched in their expressions, their eyes wide and frantic, as if they were fleeing from something unseen.
I stopped in my tracks, my heart beginning to race.
"What's going on?" I muttered under my breath, watching as more people came charging past, their shoes slapping the pavement in a hurried rhythm. They were running toward me—away from where I was headed.
Away from my house.
A tight knot began forming in my stomach. "No, no, it's nothing," I whispered to myself. "Maybe it's just a police chase or something... probably nothing serious." My feet started moving again, but this time faster, my pulse quickening with each step.
A couple ran past me, the woman clutching the arm of the man beside her, her voice filled with panic. "Go! Don't stop!" she yelled, not even sparing me a glance. I froze for a moment, my mind racing. Why were they so scared? What was happening?
It's nothing, I told myself again, trying to keep my nerves in check. Nothing's wrong. Everyone's fine.
I broke into a run, pushing past the small crowd of fleeing people. My legs burned as I sprinted, my breath coming in short bursts. "Please... let everything be okay," I whispered, my voice trembling. "It's fine... it's all fine. They're just running from something stupid... maybe a fight or something. Nothing serious."
But the deeper I ran into the neighborhood, the quieter it became. The streets that usually buzzed with evening life now seemed hollow, like something had sucked the air right out of them. The only sound was my pounding footsteps against the concrete.
"Dad will be home," I kept telling myself, forcing my legs to move faster. "He'll be there like always. Nothing's wrong. Mom's at home... waiting for him, just like every other day."
But my gut twisted with every step I took. The silence was wrong. It felt too heavy.
"Don't panic," I muttered, trying to push the fear away. "Everything's fine. My house will be standing there... it'll be just like it always is. No need to panic."
But my voice cracked.
By the time I turned onto my street, I was praying under my breath, my hands shaking. "Please, please, please... let everything be alright." I had to fight the images flooding my mind—thoughts of my house, crumbling, smoke rising, chaos where there should be calm.
But when I reached the end of the street, my worst fears began to take shape.
I stopped, staring ahead at the sight in front of me.
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