The Beginning of a Story

The wind blew through the open windows of the old house, scattering loose bits across the worn floor. A large grey cat ignored its surroundings as it lapped at milk left in a cereal bowl on the kitchen table. Upstairs, a baby cried but no one responded. A drop of red splashed onto the white tile floor, adding to the growing puddle. Plop. Plop.

In the distance, thunder gave voice to the dark clouds that were moving swiftly toward the house. The garage filled with the exhaust from a cherry 1964 Mustang. With a full gas tank, it wouldn't stop anytime soon. Strong, white rope hung from a beam on the porch. It was stretched to max capacity as it held its load.

A child stood in the yard clutching a white blanket with red balloons stitched on it. She gazed at the house, "It's too late to save us."