The sun is blood red.

The sun is blood red.
It looks like dusk outside, but my clock says noon.
The sky is yellow, a color I know it to be all too well.
Everything has an orange tint, as though the entire world were lit by the light of a candle.
The wind is calm.
For now.
Outside, white flakes fall.
They cover the ground.
Cars
Trees
Houses
Everything.
Almost like snow,
But it’s not snow.
This is September.
We’ve never gotten snow here anyway.
This is something different,
Scarier than snow,
Falling innocently to the ground.

The sun is blood red.
And so dark that I could look directly at it if I wanted to,
My eyes wouldn’t sting.
My vision wouldn't get blurry.
I could stare right into that evil, blood red sun.
But I can't.
It reminds me of something I don’t want to think about.

I look the bag lying next to me.
Everything is there.
Everything is in its place.
I hold it and try not to overthink, but I do anyway
What if my fears become reality?
What if what I've been dreading becomes real?
This will be all that is left.
I’ll have nothing.
Nothing but my family,
This bag,
And everything in it.

The smell of smoke lingers in the hot, dry air
Despite every window closed, every door shut, air filters whirring.
The smell is nostalgic,
But not in a good way.
It sends a wave of terror through my body.
I know it’s far away, miles and miles away, but it still scares me.
Last time I smelled smoke like this,
I was forced to flee at midnight for my life

The sun is blood red.
It shines through my window.
Creates a shadow on my floor.
The light is just as red, as though someone spilled something on the carpet.
Like fruit punch-flavored Gatorade.
Yes, that's exactly the color.
Gatorade red.
Blood red.
I watch the airplanes.
They fly overhead towards where the sky is yellowest, almost orange,
And then disappear.
I know what they're doing, and I pray they succeed.

The sky is yellow,
Almost orange.
The white flakes fall;
Our September snowstorm.
The smell of smoke fills the dry air.
And the sun is blood red.