KABOOM!

Reedsy #509, the Big Break with London Writers Centres, 2026 Jun 19

Prompt #2: Start your story moments before everything changes.

KABOOM!

I was so angry I could spit. No, take that back. I don’t spit. It’s gross. I was so angry that I could swear like I was raised by Osbournes. That’s better.

I’d stomped out of the house, leaving Trent sitting on the couch, smugly smiling, like he won something. He’d been so condescending, so arrogant, so supercilious, that I wanted to kill him—literally strangle the life out of him. So instead of doing or saying something that I would regret later, I’d grabbed Xena—my best friend, and much better human being than Trent even though she was a dog—leashed her up, and walked out. Nope, change that, I stomped out and slammed the door. I’m pretty sure the pictures on the walls rattled.

“Jerk!” I yelled back at the closed door. Xena looked at me and back at the house and gave a little gurff.

We’d gotten to maybe the end of the driveway and had turned left onto the sidewalk when my house blew up.

KABOOM!

One minute I’m marching down the street all righteously pissed off, the next minute I’m flying face-first into the pavement. The percussive force struck us from behind, and we were both pushed as if a big hand had shoved us hard. We were down on the ground, and the contents of my home was raining down around us. I pulled Xena in and covered her with my body to protect her, and hoped that we’d be spared the irony of being killed by a flying debris after just avoiding being blown to bits.

Irony had a wicked sense of humour.

*****

I woke up in the hospital. I knew it was a hospital because it looked and smelled like every hospital room I had ever been in, with a plethora of machines quietly beeping and a disturbing number of clear plastic tubes attached to various parts of my body. Plus there was the overwhelming smell of disinfectant and sadness.

Well, I was alive, so screw you irony.

But, my head throbbing so intensely that I could feel it in my eyeballs and teeth. My neurologist Dr. Levins had come in and explained what had happened to me. Apparently when the house exploded, part of my front door had whacked me in the back of the head, leaving me with a gapping scalp wound that had required the doctors to shave part of my head (yikes!) so that they could sew my scalp together. Said door was the cause of my whooper of a concussion. Which explained the low lights and closed curtains in my room—standard concussion protocol. Which explained why I felt like absolute death.

It sounded like a million bees were in my head. Dr. Levins told me the sound was from the blast force which messed up my hearing—it wasn’t permanent and it would gradually disappear over the next couple of days. Hopefully.

I also had a myriad of cuts, bruises, minor burns, and a broken left wrist. Both my eyes were black and swollen, the sclera (which I learned was the whites of my eyes) were now a shocking red due to subconjunctival hemorrhages (burst bloods vessels). It didn’t hurt, but looked super creepy, in a horror movie kind of way.

I was a mess.

I asked about Xena. No one in the hospital knew anything about what had happened to her. I fell asleep worried about my best friend. Just before I lost consciousness, it occurred to me that I hadn’t even thought once about Trent.

The next time I woke up, I was not alone. My parents were standing over my bed, looking worried.

“Hey,” I croaked.

“Oh Naomi! We’re so sorry,” whispered my mom, holding my hand.

“What?” I looked from my mom to my dad. Was it Xena?

“We’re so sorry about Trent,” said my dad rubbing my shoulder.

Trent … right, Trent.

“He died, honey” said my dad. “In the explosion.”

So, Trent was dead.

I wasn’t sure how I should feel but it. I’d have to let it sit for a while.

“Xena?” I asked.

My mom took a breath in, and smiled. “She’s with us. She has a few bumps and bruises. We took her to the vet and she says she’s fine. You saved her.” She squeezed my hand.

I smiled. It was as if a weight had been lifted from my shoulders.

“My house?”

Both my parents’ faces dropped. “It’s a write off,” said Dad, his head shaking. “There’s nothing left but the basement.”

“We’ve been over to the site, you know, to see if there’s anything to salvage, but they won’t let us near the place. The police are still investigating.

I could feel the tears welling up. I blinked and they slid down the side of my face, right into my ears. I tried to lift my hand to wipe them away, but I couldn’t. It was like my arms were weighted down. Mom grabbed a tissue from the table beside my bed, and dabbed them away.

“The police want to talk to you,” said Dad. “Your doctor told them not until you are able to sit up and walk.” He shrugged. “Probably tomorrow.”

I tried to nod, but the pain shooting through my head put the kibosh on that. “Why do they want to talk to me?” I asked.

My parents looked at each other again. My mom spoke first. “Because your house blew up. They need to interview you to see what you know.”

I must have looked confused, so my Dad spoke up. “It wasn’t an accident, sweetheart. It was a bomb.”

“A bomb?” I said, “Like someone did it on purpose?”

Before they could answer, a nurse walked into my room. Her lanyard said Stephanie. “Hi folks.” She smiled warmly. “Naomi needs her rest. How ‘bout you come back later, maybe later this afternoon. She should be rested by then.”

Mom and Dad both nodded. Mom kissed my hand, afraid of hurting my head, “You get some rest, sweetie,” she said. “Can we bring you anything?”

I remembered the last time, tried to move my head less than a minute ago, and said “No, I’m good,” instead shaking my head.

Dad squeezed my big toe. “See you later kiddo,” he said. My dad was weird.

I napped. Lunch was delivered. Went Stephanie raised my bed I felt like I was going to vomit. She assured me that was perfectly normal as she handed me the emesis basin (aka barf bucket). I managed not to throw-up, so yay?

I’d been in the hospital for about twenty-four hours, and the only thing that I’d had so far was a juice box—like I was five years old. But it had tasted like the best juice box, ever, so no complaints.

Lunch looked … well it looked like hospital food. A broth of some sort, two pieces of dry whole wheat toast, and a single serving of Jell-o. I grabbed for the Jell-o.

“Don’t wolf it down,” Stephanie warned me, handing me the spoon. “Or you’re going to need that.” She head tilted towards the emesis pan. I took off the tinfoil cover and ate. Jell-o—even orange Jell-o, my least favourite of all the Jell-os—had never tasted so good. I sighed contentedly.

Once she was satisfied that I wasn’t going to bolt my food and heave, she left me alone. I’m pretty sure she had better things to do than watch me eat. I managed to not inhale my lunch—even though I was starving. Maybe not literally starving, but I was hungry. It was also exhausting. Who knew that Jell-o, a couple of pieces of toast, and some lukewarm broth would tire me out? But it did. I didn’t even push the over-bed table away before I fell asleep sitting up, a crust of toast clutched in my hand.

When I woke up the next time, there were two people I didn’t know in my room. They weren’t doctors, unless doctors were now carrying badges and guns. The police. Mom—no Dad—told me they wanted to talk to me. But he said tomorrow, not today.

“Hello Ms. Hurst,” said the woman sitting beside my bed. “I’m Detective Terry Waits.” She smiled. “And this is my partner, Detective Carlos Ito.” She looked to the man standing against the wall at the foot of my bed. He nodded. “We’d like to talk to you regarding the explosion at your home at 14 Scenic Road.” She paused. “Are you feeling up to a conversation?”

I said nothing. I wasn’t sure I was up to anything—I’d just fallen asleep sitting up while still eating lunch, so maybe I wasn’t ready for a conversation with the police. I put the toast crust on the table.

Before I could say anything the door to my room opened and Dr. Levins walked in, and asked me how I felt.

“Okay. Tired.”

She looked at the detectives. “You are not allowed in here without my explicit permission.”

Detective Waits spoke up. “We need to find out what happened to Ms. Hurst’s house, and learn how Mr. Weir died. Time is of the essence. The longer we wait, the harder it will be to find the person who did this.”

“It’s okay,” I said.

Dr. Levins looked at me, then back at the detectives. “You can talk to her for five minutes. I am going to remain in the room, and will cut the interview short if Ms. Hurst shows any signs of distress.”

Detective Waits nodded. “That’s fine.” She took out her phone, and set up the recording app, listed the time, place, people present, then turned to me. “What do you remember about the explosion yesterday morning at your home?”

I honestly didn’t know what I knew. “I left with Xena, then the house exploded.”

“Why did you leave?” asked Detective Waits.

“Uh …” I paused, trying to think. The bees buzzed louder. “Trent … we’d just had a fight.”

“By Trent, you mean Trent Weir?”

“Yes.”

“You had a relationship with Mr. Weir?”

“Yes. We were partners. He lived in my house.”

“What did you fight about?”

I thought about it. There was something, but I couldn’t quite remember. I looked at her blankly. “I don’t know. I can’t remember.”

Detective Waits nodded. “Can you tell us about your relationship with Mr. Weir?”

I immediately felt a knot of dread curl in stomach. “I think … we were breaking up, or we were broken up. I’m not sure.” I paused. “We were broken up. I think. I’m pretty sure.” The bees were a-buzzing.

“Whose idea was the breakup?” asked Detective Waits.

I thought for a moment. I knew this. It was just in there, somewhere. “I think it was mine.”

Detective Waits looks unconvinced. “You think?” she asked, eyebrows raised. “You don’t know?”

I started to say something, but Dr. Levin stepped forward. “I think we’re done here, for now. Ms. Hurst has a severe concussion. She is, understandably, disoriented.” She looked pretty formidable, staring down the police.

Detective Waits smiled. “We understand. We’ll be back later.” She closed a small black notebook. I hadn’t even noticed that she was writing in a book. I was not okay.

As they walked out the door, Dr. Levins watched them leave. “If you don’t feel up to being interviewed, just tell them. The nurses know to call me if they come back.”

I thanked her, and she left. I sank back on my still-raised bed. I’d talked for what, less than five minutes, and I was whipped. I shut my eyes and fell asleep.

When I woke up, I noticed three things. One, my head was not pounding quite as bad as it had been, so yay. Two, it was getting dark out now. I knew that because the curtains were open, another good sign. And three, the detectives were back in the room, watching me expectantly. Not so good And, right on cue, Dr. Levin walked in.

She turned to me. “How are you feeling?” she asked as she turned on the single light over my bed.

I smiled. “A lot better. My head isn’t pounding as bad, and there aren’t that many bees left in there.” I said pointing to my own head

She smiled at me, then turned to the detectives. “I told you to come back tomorrow.”

I spoke up. “It’s fine. I just want to get this over with.”

She looked from me to the detectives. “Fine. Same rules as this morning. Five minutes”

They nodded, and Detective Waits got out her phone, notebook (which I noticed this time) and recorded the date, time, place, and those present. Then she turned to me. “Okay Ms. Hurst, can you describe your relationship with Mr. Weir.”

It was a little clearer now. “We were dating about seven months. He moved into my house—temporarily—about two weeks ago. His lease was up and he was looking for a place. It was supposed to just be for a couple of weeks.” Pause. “We broke up, and he moved out last week.”

“Do you remember why you two broke up?”

I sat there for a moment. “It was because … because … that’s right. He’d tried to forge my signature on the house deed, transferring ownership to him. The bank caught the fraud. We had a terrific fight, and I kicked him out. The police were called, and they escorted him out, and arrested him.. He came over—” I looked at the detectives. “—yesterday?” They nodded. “To get the rest of his stuff. I had it in garbage bags at the front door, but instead of just taking his stuff and leaving, he pushed his way in. I told him to go. He wouldn’t. He told me this was as much his home as it was mine. I reminded him that I bought it way before I met him, that I paid the mortgage, taxes, utilities. That he didn’t even pay me rent.” I sat there for a moment. “I was screaming at him to get out of my house. He just laughed and said that if he couldn’t have my house, then no one could. That freaked me out, so I grabbed Xena and left. Then the house blew up.”

“Do you have insurance on your home?” asked Detective Ito from by the window, where he’d parked himself.

That took me by surprise. “Yes.” I said. Everybody had homeowners’ insurance, didn’t they?

“Does it cover explosions?”

That stopped me. I looked from one detective to the other. “I have no idea.” The thought hit me that if I didn’t … The heart monitor beeped faster.

Dr. Levins clocked the heart monitor. “Naomi, are you okay to continue?”

I nodded—and, for the first time, since I woke up in the hospital, I didn’t feel like my head was going to explode. Like my house. I felt my eyes water up. Everything I owned … gone.

Detective Waits asked the next question. “Do you know anyone who would want to harm you?”

My answer was immediate. “No.” I wasn’t that person No one hated me that much. I was annoying, sure. I knew that. Then I paused. “Except maybe Trent. He accused me of ruining his life and he said he was going to ruin my life. Tit for tat.”

“Did you know of anyone who would want to harm Mr. Weir.”

I snorted. “Yeah. He owes—owed—a lot of people a lot of money.” The detectives looked at me. “Online gambling, sketchy loans,” I said. “That’s why he tried to steal my house. Jerk.”

Detective Waits raised her eyebrows.

I took a deep breath. “He was a jerk. H tried to steal my house. He treated me like crap—lying, cheating, gaslighting me if I questioned him. He kicked Xena. Who kicks a dog just became they can?” I took a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling. “He was my biggest mistake.”

“So, you’re not upset that he’s dead?”

I looked at her. “I’m not sure how I feel about that, but I was done with him.”

“Okay, said Detective Waits. “That’s all we have for now. We will be back if we have anymore questions for you.” They packed up and left.

I was exhausted. I was a world class talker— was not usually the person who got tired after a short chat. That was my eighty-six year old grandma, not me. I was asleep before Dr. Levins left the room.

When I woke up again, my parents were back. It was full dark out now. And my dinner had arrived. Same as my lunch, but, mmmmm.

I tried to sit up straighter. I had to admit I felt like I’d been hit by a bus. Or a solid oak door.

“Naomi!” said my mother, watching me carefully. “The police were just here.”

I looked from one to the other.

My Dad spoke up. “They said that Trent accidentally blew himself up. That he was probably hiding a bomb in your house and accidentally blew himself up.”

“That wasn’t very smart,” said my Mom.

I stared at my dad. “Oh my God,” I said. They both shook their heads, thinking about how close came to being blown to smithereens.

Yeah, I thought, oh my God—they think Trent did it. Not me.

Phew.