Fireworks

The sound of fireworks echoed in the night, faint at first but growing louder with increasing pace, as if they were creeping closer to my small, dimly lit room, like vines climbing up walls. I sat at my desk, hunched over a history textbook, but the words on the page barely registered. I could hear the celebrations outside: the laughter, the cheers, the loud noises, the popping bursts of colour in the sky, and the occasional distant hum of music blending with the chaos. For a moment, I closed my eyes, letting the sounds wash over me.

It was New Year’s Eve.

I should’ve been out there, like everyone else. But no, I was stuck inside, pretending this history exam was the most important thing in the world. I traced the edge of my pencil across the margins of the page, the familiar weight of it grounding me. The clock ticked in the background, each second growing louder, matching the rhythm of the fireworks bursting joyfully outside.

With each burst, colors exploded in several directions, resembling tie-dye paint.

I glanced at my phone. Midnight was approaching. A new year, a new beginning for everyone out there. I sighed, letting my gaze drift to the window, where flashes of light danced across the dark sky. I could picture them—the people below, gathered in the streets, bundled up against the cold, their faces turned upwards, waiting for the fireworks to explode above.

For a brief moment, I thought about joining them. It would’ve been easy. I could slip out, blend into the crowd, and let the festive atmosphere swallow me up. My heart hesitated, torn between the comfort of solitude and the allure of fleeting joy outside.

Finally, I reluctantly gave in.

I walked out, the pockets of my jeans heavy, weighing me down. My heartbeat quickened as I moved toward the crowd. I peered around the corner, the cold gust of the night air crisp and biting at my skin. At first, everything seemed normal. The sky was alight with bursts of color, and the people below were still gathered, watching in awe. But then, from a distance, I saw it—chaos.

Figures were moving frantically, running, colliding with each other. The popping of fireworks continued, but it was no longer just fireworks. Flashes were coming from the ground, too. Quick, erratic bursts of light, far too low to be part of the display. My breath caught in my throat with a sense of foreboding dread.

Gunshots.

The screaming intensified, piercing through the night, louder now, closer. Panic surged through the crowd as people scattered like ants, some falling to the ground, others pushing and shoving to escape.

My pulse raced as I watched the scene unfold in disbelief.

I felt a strange sense of detachment as I observed the mayhem. The fireworks overhead continued, oblivious to the terror that had erupted on the ground. I didn’t move, didn’t blink; I just stood there, frozen, watching everything unravel in real time. My mind raced with questions, yet my body refused to respond, rooted in place.

I turned away, my back pressed against the electric pole behind me. Slowly, I peeled myself away from its support as a body fell flat onto the ground in front of me. His eyes were open and unseeing, while crimson blood pooled around his head, fanning out like spilled ink on paper. The sight was unnerving—to everyone else.

But not to me.

I stared into his unseeing eyes and smiled to myself as I slipped the gun back into my pocket.

By Aditri Paul

Aditri Paul, a 10th-grade student at Delhi Public School, is an avid reader with a passion for crafting thrilling stories. She can be reached at aditripaul60@gmail.com.