Gravesend

The first explosion seemed to turn everything onto its side.  The large, decorative windows on one side of the room imploded, throwing a cascade of shattered glass over the carefully developed photos.  The cosy red felt-topped writing desk against the wall was literally chucked to the other side of the room; the lounge chair accompanying it was blasted elsewhere. 

An assortment of papers started raining down from the roof, books landed haphazardly around the suite.  A loud ripping noise announced that the gold-tinted crimson curtains around the four poster bed had torn from their groundings as a small, skinny girl fell with a terrifying scream from the safety it offered.

The girl scrambled to her feet, eyes spinning around the room eating hungrily at the sights around her.  The mouth opened to scream again, but the second explosion stopped her in mid-breath.  Again she was thrown upwards from the ground, but this time a sickening crunching noise accompanied the fall. 

A mixture of ash and flames flew inward through the windows, engulfing the room with a fiery hotness that burned at her eyes and lips.  Suspended in mid air, she waited for what seemed like an eternity; the world around her was unmoving, unchanging.  A whirlwind of fire caused the papers and photographs to dance around the room in a cynical kind of waltz. 

With a nauseating thud, the girl fell back to the ground, eyes out of focus and blood oozing down her temple.  There she remained for an endless time, or rather, until another scream broke the early morning darkness.  With a crash which seemed petty and insignificant, the door burst open, bouncing off of the wall slightly. 

“Jill!” The cry sounded most pitiful; it came from a girl standing in the doorway, hair shoulder-length, brown, and messy, and the look of someone who had just been rudely awakened from a night of too-little sleep glazed in her gorgeous brown eyes.  “Jill!” she repeated.