I was in its path.
Invisible ghosts herald its arrival, tearing into me with glass daggers, stripping away clothes, then skin, then flesh.
When sunrise came I was nothing but and burning, blackening horror, grinning macabre and bursting to flame.
No roar, no rumble, no sound.
Just a tiny clicking, like an ant picking its teeth.
And darkness in its wake.
My hard drive failed. Complete shit the bed and along with it eighty edited pages of my latest novel yet to be named.
No back up. The computer was six months old, what could go wrong? I'll pick up a back up drive when they're on sale. I should be okay.
The clicking, that ant scratching its balls? That was the read-write head slamming onto the drive platters, crashing and tearing into the memory with every click, gobbling chunks of bits and bytes.
Words and letters.
Mac fixed the computer for free.
I now have a terror bite sized back up drive.
And we begin again.
In the chard path of destruction there is nothing but smoking rock and death. A bit of light plays off my hollowed eye socket and the clicking vertebrae turns my skull towards its direction. Earth churred up in the blast uncovers a bit of history, an old ceramic jug sloshing with tax free home-grade moonshine.
So curious to be there.
I reach for it.
And begin again.