The Last Summer Night

It was a cool summer evening.  I was watching the butterflies. Or perhaps they were moths.  I could hear the peepers calling through the night.

But then the sky turned orange, like a sugary sorbet.  All our eyes looked up.  Its ghastly glow cast shadows across our faces.

“Fireworks!” Someone was clapping.

But the light did not fade; it burned through the sky, eating our air.  And then it fell. Fell on the city.  Engulfed it in flames.  We watched with terror as the skyline melted to the ground.

Eyes wide.

Mouths open.

Utter silence.

The ash began to fall.