Reality screaming | #writephoto Flash Fiction #booksky

Reality screaming swam into my brain shortly after reading Rebecca Douglass’s review of The Worst Hard Time by Timothy Egan, a story of the people in the Great Dust Bowl. In fact the title/prompt I invented after I’d finished writing it. Then I found the picture prompt, although it is one I’d seen a week or two ago, when I was just appalled by what I was seeing.

I apologise for any pseudo Americanisms from this Brit. It hasn’t been style- or fact-checked. As far as I know the corporate event at the end is entirely fictional. For now. But the insurance industry won’t be able to take too many more hits like this over multiple years. The trouble is, I’m preaching to the converted.

The story is just over 1100 words. If you’ve been closely affected by the LA fires, skip it.

Reality Screaming

Chantelle huddled with her children on the uncomfortable sofa. It was softer than the floor. “Hush now, your Poppa will be back soon.” 

Tonya was still shaking occasionally, her tear-stained and smudged face pressing into her mother’s side, under her arm, then looking out again, trying to make sense of everything. Marcus sat still, sucking his thumb, glaring at anybody who came near.

It was the middle of the night, but all was not still. People came and went, sirens split the air outside, and the darkness was an illusion of morning, lit by the flames in the distance. People around them clustered in groups, just as they had. Some were weeping quietly, sniffing the evidence away, trying to hide their devastation from the children. Every time another family came through the doors the screaming began again, set off by the tantrums of at least one of the new children. It seemed to be the standard reaction from people under ten years old. After the panic of leaving their home, and all of their toys bar maybe one or two, the horror took over. Self-interest meant tantrums. “I want my…” most precious possession.

One older lady passed one family, wrapped in the middle of coping with the boy, probably no more than four, lying on the floor, kicking and screaming. “You’ve got your Mom and your Pop, haven’t you? Be grateful for them.”

It hardly helped, however true it was.

They got through the night. Wayne came back, carrying three large bottles of water. “It’s all there is. Red Cross were handing it out. Red Cross. In America.”

Astonishment mixed with disbelief and fear. Fear all around them. What would they find when the fire was finished with their homes? When could they go back and start picking up the pieces?

~

One month later, the pieces were gathering together, but several were missing entirely.

Their home. Razed to the ground. Everything in it, gone. 

“What about Pumpkin?” Tonya had wailed. 

“He probably ran away, very fast.”

“Shall I go look for him?”

“You remember the Incredible Journey?” Tonya nodded. “We’ll have to hope he can find us, honey.” It was the best Chantelle could think of to keep Tonya’s mind from their beloved cat. Tonya had coped with the news of her toys, books, games, clothes, everything all gone. “Everything?” She’d whispered.

“But you saved Eloise.”

Tonya snuggled Eloise to her. “But she lost her home, too.”

Chantelle’s mind swam to the overstuffed bedroom, with Eloise’s accoutrements everywhere.  Some woman on Oprah the other day had been talking about children and helping them overcome their trauma. Chantelle never watched Oprah, but there was nothing else to do, and the tv in the school hall was tuned to whatever it was tuned to, and daytime it was not tuned to a news channel. Too many kids watching. Nothing else to do.

“What do you think Eloise is thinking now, honey?” Chantelle asked her daughter.

“She’s scared. She’s only got me to look after her, and she’s not at home, and doesn’t know what’s going on.”

“Well, you could reassure her, tell her that we’re in a safe place, even if we’re crowded in with lots of other people who’ve lost their homes too. If we hear from Aunt Aggie, we might get to go to stay with her, but it’s a long way away.”

“I’ll tell her, Mommy. When’s Pop coming back?”

“When he can, honey.” When he’d finished standing in line for hours trying to get information about temporary accommodation, and another line to get to talk to the insurance advisers. They’d set up stalls in order to stop everyone using their phones to stay on hold till their batteries ran out. There was a strict rota for charging points at their emergency shelter. And if the electric cut out when it was your turn, that was too bad.

Wayne came back when it was the dark they’d become used to, the dark with the background glow that Chantelle would see even in her dreams.

He sat down, beside her, and accepted her arm around his shoulders. She rubbed them a little, he was so tense.

“Do you want to tell me?”

“What?”

“It’s bad news, isn’t it.”

He shrugged off her hands, and struggled to his feet, then collapsed down again. “I’m so tired…”

“Then sleep.”

He closed his eyes. Why did everyone leave everything to her? Couldn’t he just tell her what was going on? She heard a whispered row evolving a few lines away, and then it broke out into shouting. And the wife screaming obscenities at him, her parents, his parents, the mayor, the governor, the damn senators and the f…ing POTUS.

“Oh my God, did you hear that?” her neighbour leaned over. “f-ing California Insurance Group has folded. Bankrupt. There’s no money. Our policies are all dead.” What started as a whisper turned its volume up to a scream.

Suddenly people were springing to their feet, rushing to the door, to the manager’s office, out into the street. Chantelle started to get up but Wayne grabbed her arm.

“Stay, honey. Don’t get caught up in it. Look after us. You’re doing a great job. You always do a great job. I love you so much. But… I’ve failed you.” He put his head in his hands and Chantelle realised he was weeping.

“Is it true?” she asked, but suddenly Tonya and Marcus were grabbing at her, screaming, because everyone else was screaming. She pulled them to her, trying to surround them with a wall of calm, but with so many people rushing about, it was all she could do to just keep her family together.

The local cops came in trying to calm people down, reminding them they could do nothing till the morning. Chantelle admired the job the locals were doing. Some other places they’d have waded in, quelling a riot with fists and batons. Somehow everything calmed down again, and people returned to their squats. 

One of the volunteers did the rounds with a tea urn. Chantelle hated tea, but took it anyway.

Her phone flashed.

Chantelle read the message, and a noise somewhere between a cheer and a sob erupted from her. 

“What,” asked Wayne, drowsy from his half-sleep.

“Aunt Aggie says of course we must come. She’ll wire us some money.”

“Where is she again?”

“Lousiana.”

Chantelle lay back and closed her eyes. She’d met her aunt once. She’d never been to Louisiana. But she was all they had now. Would Pumpkin manage to find them in a place he’d never been?

Who knows what the future might bring.

© J M Pett 2025