Cut the Red Wire

I fumble with the wires, but I don’t know how to do so.  One wrong move and – boom!  The whole building goes up in fiery explosion.  I wipe my brow in anxious concern and try untwisting a couple of the connections, only to pull back at a small, electrical shot.  

“Shit!” I say, shaking out my hand.   The cops aren’t coming, no bomb squad is going to help me.  Even if the phone lines hadn’t been disconnected, I wouldn’t have trusted those schmucks.  

“Here we go,” I mutter, encouraging myself.  I work through the electrical pain and untwist the wires. When nothing happens, I sigh with relief.  

I hear some movement outside.  The two men that had laced the building with bombs chat buoyantly and extend an antenna. One pushes a button to blow the old house to kingdom come. 

The mirror in the grand hallway – that thing to which my lingering soul is attached, that thing that my ghost relies on – is shattered.  My body dissipates, and my spirit is forced to move on. 

(168 words)


This was written for the second Wacky Weekend Writing Challenge on The Dark Netizen, ‘Explosion.’  

6 thoughts on “Cut the Red Wire

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