Yellowstone

Tuesday, July 24, 2029

6:54 AM Mountain Time 

It was a song-filled morning like the one before.  The naive dawn rose against the jagged mountains and forests outside of Yellowstone National Park.  A small convenience store squatted along the side of a two-lane road, highly traveled for its access to the park. In the shadow of this unremarkable building was a boxy, sun-bleached trailer and a small cat who was chasing an old lottery ticket twirling in the breeze.  Al Forsberg, the manager of the store had just finished his tiresome morning inventory.  He couldn’t remember where he had put his keys and began to rustle through his pockets.  The bent, mustached man in his fifties stepped through the front door and held it open as he stared into the parking lot.  It was empty except for his small living space at the far end and his rusty, yellow hatchback that was parked around the corner.  The road was empty as well which was peculiar for this time of day.  He seized the occasion and reached into the pocket of his tacky uniform for his pack of Marlboros.  A thin, white cylinder slid between his fingers in a practiced ballet of gestures.  Al lit his cigarette and scratched the itch in his chest.  The breeze turned and caught his ascending smoke in a spiral. The discarded lottery ticket darted across the parking lot and wheeled off into the road.  After an unfruitful pursuit, the small cat stopped and sat in front of the entrance with her little humped back to the mustached chimney-man.  Al looked down at the cat as he was subjected to a cartoonish saxophone solo playing on the store’s radio.  The small feline flicked her tail back and forth, clearly agitated about losing her prize.  Al took in the moment of the awful saxophone solo, the irritated cat, and the fact that the cat was not considering a reverse mortgage and let out a wheezy chuckle.  The cat’s head spun around.  The Air Force veteran crouched over, wiggling his finger at the black and white creature and beckoned her gently.  “C’mere little buddy.” The cat trotted towards the wiggling finger of the chimney-man and pressed her head into the giant’s knuckles, not missing the opportunity to be consoled. Out of the corner of his eye, the manager thought he saw something impossible. He turned his head instinctively in the direction of the impossible event, and the curiosity that had scurried through his mind just a moment ago was usurped by a deep and primal fear.  The cat vanished. 

The golden scans of the morning disappeared into a wall of darkness as the toothy horizon heaved skyward. A tremendous silence covered the land, and in its shadow waves of terror and disbelief crashed through Al’s mind. The sprawling forests a few miles away were being hurled into the air, consumed in a growing pillar of hellfire and ash.  A sonic boom ripped through the atmosphere breaking the dust from the trees.  When that wall of pressurized air slammed into Al’s body, it met him like a speeding truck, throwing him backwards in a thunder of broken glass and twisted aluminum.  After a brief passage into unconsciousness, he awoke on the floor. His ears were ringing and every uncovered part of his body had been lacerated by flying debris.  Through the shredded cigarette advertisements dangling in the shattered windows, Al saw the unimaginably large black column stretch thousands of feet into the sky.  The small-framed manager sat up and tried hopelessly to get to his feet. The floor began to quake in a buckling crescendo.  Flimsy, wire magazine stands and brightly colored cardboard snack displays were tossed around the store like crumpled receipts.  Al crawled on his belly along the shifting floor as rocks drummed on the ceiling.  The beige metal shelving units that stretched across the store were flailing worms on hot cement.  Containers of food and medicine were tossed in every direction and the little man was struck in the back of the head by something that had fallen from the shelves.  He could hear his car alarm screaming from the parking lot through the white noise of the falling debris.  The rain of ash engulfed an outcropping of nearby hillsides as it approached the convenience store. Al continued to scrape his way towards the back of the building.  He was only eight feet from the janitor’s closet where he hoped to find some kind of refuge.  In the rage of that total blackness, a heavy pain shot through Al’s body. A shelving unit had toppled over onto him, instantly crushing his pelvis and pinning him to the floor.  A desperate shriek escaped his lungs as the charging pyroclastic flow roared louder and louder. 

In that violence, he thought about his wife Dolores who had passed away almost three years ago.  He thought about the smell of her head when she used to sleep beside him.  He clutched a small silver cross that dangled from his neck as he gasped for air. The raging, toxic cloud blasted through the gaping hole in the front of the store.  Al had resigned that this was his last second to be alive. He wanted his final thought to be about Dolores.  He wanted to hold her steadily in his mind so he could find her in heaven.  But as the twelve hundred degree inferno of ash wrecked into his body, all he could think of and all he could perceive was the pain of being burned alive.  The pain was all there was, and then the pain was swallowed by the void.

Reviews

[Michael Laird]

The first paragraph was very vivid. I could picture the scene with great detail. A few things... rather than tell us that Al is an USAF vet, show us in some way. Maybe the cat rubs up against his Air Force ring. Maybe something reminds him that he's overdue for a haircut because he likes to keep it cropped short just like when he was in the USAF. Maybe bending over to pet the cat reminds him that his belly has grown bigger and that he love to have the body he had while in the USAF, but doesn't have any motivation to exercise. Then, the phrase "He turned his head instinctively in the direction of the impossible event" seems awkward. Have him turn his head toward light or sound or a sudden shadow. And break up that paragraph. It's lengthy, and daunting for a reader to look at.

The second paragraph was great, but there was one point of confusion. In the first paragraph, Al is outside. But when the shock-wave hits, he is knocked to the "floor." If the shock-wave knocks him back through the door and into the store, it should be mentioned. As with the first paragraph, this one is a little long. Consider breaking it at "After a brief passage into unconsciousness," and then again at "Al continued to scrape his way."

Overall, I love this opening scene, but I'm wondering how it can continue except as a prologue. Great stuff! Keep it coming.

I hope this helped.

[Nicholas Rossi]

Thank you Michael for your critique. It's great to get other writers' perspectives and I feel like these will help me create better and clearer imagery. This chapter functions primarily to set the stage for all that unfolds in the aftermath. I'm working on chapter two and am having an editor look over both of them as well. Thanks again!

[Michael Laird]

Nice! I can't wait to see more.

[Dash the Reaper]

Nice piece of work i enjoyed to the end..keep on writing more..i am not a story person but this one got my attention

[Nicholas Rossi]

Thank you Dash! It's the introductory chapter of a larger work. I will keep writing and thank you for your kind review!