4th edition of Weekly Writing Submissions

The dark hand clawed through the twilight sky. It was large, looking
like an abysmal black hole, the ones that are usually consuming the
edges of galaxies. Scientists say that there is one at the edge of the
Milky Way, slowly ingesting massive and insignificant stars – unless
one of those stars was a planet's sun – and its ravenous appetite
never seemed to cease. And this other black hole, sliding through the
sky didn't look like its appetite was ceasing anytime soon.

The young boy played in the cemented backyard of a two story home,
invested and involved in the mechanical car that his mother had
purchased for him just the day before, a Sunday. "It's your Christmas
present," she'd told him, her comforting and yet sharp voice cutting
through the air after they'd arrived from the shopping center, the one
that local businessmen had promised they would fix up, making it the
center of any suburbanite's dream. Of course, they hadn't.

Whether the inaction was in response to a hurricane that had torn
through the city a few months ago, or because the economic downturn
had made their bulging pockets sag, empty and desolately sad, it was
never answered. Instead, the only major store housed in the shopping
center had been shut, cardboard signs haphazardly plastered on the
doors with crude, handwritten messages of "Indefinitely shut down."
The little boy remembered that they were in some red marker, maybe
even lipstick but wouldn't lipstick smudge? He wouldn't personally
know but he'd seen his sister and his mother's lips smudged after a
night out.

But the present hadn't been opened on Christmas. Instead, it had been
opened minutes after they had arrived at the house. Now he ran around
in his Santa red pajamas, decorated with tilted white construction
trucks and orange basketballs. He knew it was an odd combination but
then again, he'd always been odd, and truth was, his mother never
asked his opinion on any of his clothes. He wondered if that would
change with age. After all, his brother and sister had gained their
clothes ware independence at what? Nine? Yeah, it was nine; the same
age he was.

The darkness clawed again, surfing in from the north, in response to
the boy's thoughts. It was as if the boy was feeding it, through no
conscious decision of his own. Continuing to play with his remote
controlled car, he led it zigzag over the pavement. The little
fluorescent headlights shone pearly blue in the creeping darkness,
attracting the attention of his mutt, who sniffed at it before
trotting away.

It was interesting to see that the dog hadn't reacted to the
approaching arm of voidness heading towards them. Weren't animals uber
sensitive, so much so that they could sense danger miles away? But she
didn't react, and this did not bode well for the little boy. After a
few minutes of playing in the paved yard, running from side to side as
he forced the car to lead or be led by him, the dark arm shot out and
grabbed him. Wrapping around his little form, the arm held on tightly.
The little boy flailed his tiny legs, torso jerked back and the head
jerked forward. The wind was knocked out of him but whatever he
couldn't convey in words, he conveyed in facial expressions. His eyes
widened, his little mouth formed an O and before the darkness dragged
him away, he screamed. His dog reacted but it was too late, he was
already gone and all could be heard was a fervent barking and a
passing ambulance on the main street. And, of course, the little
remote controlled car running off the pavement onto the wilting grass.