The house was perfectly silent. Its screen door, patched with electrical tape, banged shut in a puff of rotten breeze. A yellow flowerpot stood before a ragged, newly-formed cave, gaping from the ruined tomato garden. Grotesque ribbons hung in the trees and the lawn was dotted with tufts of fur. The sky was crayon-blue and cloudless; several birds, unaffected by the night’s phenomena, trilled from charred branches. A dog barked.
In a root cellar next door, a pile of broken glass and limbs shifted slightly beneath a bright square of peach-colored sun.