Heartbreak Hotel screamed through the empty house through a tiny metal radio.
It was hot outside, and all of the windows were open.
The cream and yellow curtains in the kitchen whipped around as the wind blew them every which way.
A half filled coffee mug sat on the rusted kitchen counter. If you moved the cup, a perfect ring of syrup would lay underneath.
In the living room, worn out furniture gave the room a cozy, warm appearance. The blazing sun may have helped bring warmness too.
Outside, next to the open window, sat a willow tree that shaded a small stool. One by one papers flew off the stool, and onto the floor.
Faint laughter of children could be heard from the house. The laughter of children playing out back in the fields.
Then, Heartbreak Hotel stopped playing on the tiny metal radio. The cables had been interrrupted.
For that one instant, the only sound made in he entire town, was the tiny metal radio’s static fuzz.

And then, the bomb dropped.