The Explosions of Pine Crest

I was abruptly roused from my slumber by a thunderous boom. I held my breath. Was it curiosity or fear? Counting to five, I pondered, was this thunder? Was this the wrath of nature? I had seen no signs of impending storms in the forecast. What was the source of this disturbance? It wasn’t the weather. It was something else—something louder and a lot more chaotic. The sound reverberated through the walls, shaking the very foundation of my house.

I squinted, searching for my clock. It was ten p.m. The next boom made the little numbers flicker. Would I lose power? The intrusive blast shook my house.

Pop, bang, crackle. The symphony of noises persisted. Sleep was now an elusive dream. Another resounding boom. It sounded like a distant cannon. A piercing whistle succeeded. It was rumbling like a train hurtling through the darkness. It was getting more intense. Or was it getting closer?

My room was dark with blackout curtains. I worked the graveyard shift and needed darkness to sleep. I left the city to avoid the violence, and Pine Crest was notoriously safe. What was going on outside? It sounded like a nuclear war!

I lay flat on my bed, thinking I wouldn’t be found if I held my breath. I feared being a target if I sat up. I scanned the darkness for the charge light on my phone. But what would it say? Was someone shooting a gun? Who was the shooter? I had no idea how many people were out there. Was it worth retrieving my phone? I debated with myself, the fear and uncertainty growing with each passing second.

I slid from my bed and belly-crawled to the door. Was I safer upstairs or downstairs? How far away were they? Would they see me?

I shimmied into my jeans while on my back. Tipping over my laundry basket, I found a sweatshirt. I tried to dress without being seen, but my shoes were still downstairs.

I crawled down the hallway. Another enormous boom caused me to brace for impact. Silence. Staying on my stomach, I started my descent down the stairs. A series of pops broke the silence. Was that a machine gun? I froze with my feet on the top step and face near the landing. My heart was racing. Should I continue to the ground level? Was I safer upstairs?

A flash of eerie light spilled under the curtains, a palette of colors. That was odd, I thought. I was used to the city’s noises—the endless sirens and traffic—and I was familiar with the red and blue hues of the emergency vehicles. This was different. It felt dangerous.

I slithered to my living room. Hiding under the coffee table, I started to come to my senses. The explosions were coming from behind my house. I could go out the front door. But where would I go?

Pine Crest was a small town of about five hundred. The community was nestled in a draw between two rolling hills. There was one road in and one road out. I had only been in town a couple of weeks, and the only people I knew were those I worked with. Unfortunately, my job was in the direction of the chaos. I couldn’t go there. Should I call out sick? Would they fire me if I didn’t go in? Was the gas station still standing? Was that what exploded? 

My mind was racing as fast as my heart. What had I gotten myself into? My shoulders were so tense that I feared my head might pop off. I could feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins, my breath coming in short, shallow gasps. 

A series of pops followed another piercing whistle. Was that what a bomb sounded like? Or could it be a grenade? I stilled, waiting for what would happen next. Silence. I expected to hear an air raid siren or police yelling through a PA. Nothing.

I found my shoes. Another thunderous roar shattered the stillness. Was it safe to go outside? What could I take for a weapon? I needed to protect myself. A shiver ran down my spine as silence again filled the air.

Dressed and armed with a kitchen knife, I approached the window. I was afraid to stand and be the next victim. I crept to the corner and tilted the blinds. Protected by the wall, I peered between the wooden slats. Another series of booms rattled the window before me. A green light filled the air. Clouds of smoke swirled in the afterglow. An odd stench tickled my senses. What was that odor? Should I be breathing it?

Gaining confidence, I leaned closer to the glass. The streets were usually serene under the soft glow of street lights, but now they were bathed in an eerie, flickering light. The sidewalks were bare. My pulse quickened as the bursts of color illuminated the sky, and my initial fear lingered.

I opened the door, looking right and left. I was alone. I paused as the cold night air hit me like a wave. The sounds were louder outside. The silence mingled with the explosions, created a surreal and disorienting atmosphere. 

I stepped to the end of my porch. The racket was coming from behind me, towards town. I knew heading the other way would take me to the hills, but that didn’t sound like a good idea either. There was another flash and boom. It lit up the sky this time, but there was no point of origin. I had to see what was happening.

I walked cautiously, ready to drop to the ground. My eyes scanned for places to hide. This didn’t make sense. Taking a deep breath, I rounded the corner, giving me a panoramic view of the community.

The neighborhood was eerily quiet as I navigated the dimly lit streets. My heart raced with every passing second, and I thought it would burst at any moment. Something about the random stillness followed by the booms seemed off. There was something familiar but terrifying at the same time.

Something exploded in the night sky above me, transforming the darkness into a dazzling display of color and light. It began with a single, thunderous boom reverberating through the air, causing the ground to tremble. A moment later, a brilliant sphere of light emerged, radiating outward in all directions.

The center of the explosion glowed an intense white, almost blinding in its brightness. Surrounding this core, a cascade of vibrant colors erupted—fiery reds, electric blues, emerald greens, and shimmering golds. These colors streaked across the sky like shooting stars, leaving sparkling light trails in their wake.

As the initial burst expanded, smaller fireworks within the explosion ignited, creating intricate patterns. Some formed dazzling chrysanthemums, their petals unfolding in symmetrical, fiery blooms. Others twisted and spun like whirling dervishes, sending tendrils of light spiraling outward in mesmerizing arcs.

The explosions echoed, a series of rapid pops and cracks following the initial boom. These sounds created a chaotic symphony, blending with the gasps and cheers of the onlookers below. The lingering smoke from the explosion drifted through the air, illuminated by the fading light, creating an ethereal, almost ghostly effect.

In the aftermath, the sky slowly darkened again. The vibrant colors faded to embers and nothing. Only the faint scent of sulfur and the memory of a momentary spec acle lingered. The silence that followed was almost as painful as the explosion itself.

Fireworks? Really? I was awoken and scared of fireworks. But it was November. Why would the town be holding a fireworks display now?

Cheers broke the silence, followed by another impressive display. It must have been the grand finale.

Embarrassed by my panic, I sprinted home. It was nearly time to get ready for work, so I showered and did my best to appear calm and awake.

By the time I reached the fuel station, the show was over. A group of locals greeted me. They seemed so peaceful and joyous, a massive contrast to how I had survived the display.

The town square was decorated with lights, and street vendors sold food under little tents. I was contemplating a giant turkey leg when my coworker caught my attention.

“What did you think of the show?” He was impressed and appeared to be expecting praise.

All I could say was, “It was a real heartstopper!”

He told me about the homecoming club and how they celebrated their annual Founders Day. There used to be a lot of mining in that area. When the town was first developing, lightning struck one of the wagons loaded with dynamite for the mine, creating a dramatic explosion. The blast created a little crest when the town was settled. Trees were blown sky-high, and pine needles fell like rain, hence Pine Crest’s name.

I didn’t want to admit that it scared the daylights out of me, but I was sure he saw the relief on my face as he told me the history. He laughed loudly when he realized what I meant by “heartstopper.”

“It is our oldest tradition. We fundraise all year and put on the biggest show we can. We celebrate with fireworks to symbolize how the town was created. Not to mention that the explosion created a healthy profit for the mine.” He chuckled again, “I guess it would be kind of startling if you didn’t know about it.”

Maybe the town wasn’t so bad after all, I thought. I found my place in the world, where I could embrace the beauty of the present and look forward to the future with hope and joy. Pine Crest welcomed me with open arms, and I knew I had found my true home despite its crazy Founder’s Day tradition!