Wholly Not Home, and The Broken House

I am staying in a very nice inn, staying in a corner room on the second floor, in a small, out-of-the-way town, with a few close friends. we leave for a fun day of exploring around the nearby woods, laughing and gallivanting as we made our secret discoveries. We stayed out well into the afternoon and are happily exhausted by the time we head back. My beautiful man, who I dream about often, faceless with his golden eye, is beaming at me, having waited in the lobby for my return.

It is wonderful to see him and he fills the room with light. I bid him farewell after a brief exchange and our little group heads back to my best friend’s house. By now it is dark and we sit idly in the living room reading. Suddenly a large strobe light flashes up and then is gone, coming from the bay below. It was very dark and hard to see, but as we peered out into the night, another flash lit up the night sky and she stood alarmed and pointed out what I had been incapable of discerning.

The light’s had been flashing as a warning, “Look at how close that plane is! It’s flying way too low,” she was more scared than I ever have seen her. Following her pointed finger I beheld a terrifying scene. A passenger plane was being thrown about in the wind far too close to the ground. To my horror it was headed straight for the house. Running out the back door we heard the wood splintering as the plane’s wing crashed through the front rooms of the house. It continued to cut a path of ruination down the street until finally coming to a fiery rest down the block. I began to jog towards the wreckage to attempt to help the survivors, but the people running at me from the plane are not human. I fled.

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