Crumbling Pronunciation Novels & Stories

Because it can't hurt to be polite to the guy who can produce that amount of stink, right? There is an ear-splitting crack and the concrete of the viaduct tears off like flesh from skin, leaving bare the sinew and bone of brick and mortar beneath. Then even that begins to disintegrate into fine dust. "It's collapsing," I yell. Esme doesn't stop walking. She's heading right toward it! "Esme," I scream, "Wait ..."

Like hearing sound through water. The Crib was coming down. Not metaphorically. The walls were actually moving. Tormund's ritual had been threaded through the structural foundation of the building for decades and now that it was unraveling it was taking the foundation with it. The floor cracked in a line from the center of the room outward. A support beam split and the section of ceiling it had been holding gave way. Somewhere above us something groaned like a living thing dying. I tried to get up. My arms refused.

His hands bit into my waist, then released as soon as my feet found purchase, just long enough to steady, not long enough to linger. Behind us, the rescued girl and Grant followed, the older woman right after. One step, two— The makeshift stair under Corvin’s foot **crumbled**. He slipped. There was nothing under him but open air. He didn’t make a sound at first. His body jerked, weight dropping. His hand shot out instinctively, catching the edge of the broken stair above—but the stone there was already disintegrating in slow, hissing pieces. For one heart-stopping second, half his body hung over the void, suspended only by crumbling stone and willpower.

I whispered to myself, letting out small puffs of flustered breaths slowly. I'm so fucked, we are literally neighbours. We are fucking neighbours now!