The air exploded?!

As I said on Sunday, I've been cleaning out my big window seat of stories before I leave home.  I seriously have stacks of notebooks that are absolutely full of stories I wrote throughout my childhood.  I've gotten a few laughs (and even a few ideas and inspirations) from the stories, so I'll be sharing a few pieces here and there with you.  I'll add a few critiques and ideas in red.  Hopefully some of these critiques will be helpful to fellow writers... or at least give us all a good chuckle.
This next piece was half a page I found in an old notebook I half-filled the summer before my freshman year of high school.  It caught my attention.  I wonder why I only wrote these few sentences.
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The air exploded with the clap of a bullet. A scream. A baby crying. (I do like this paragraph just a little, although I would change a few things.)

Three a.m.

Esta bolted up in bed, her dark eyes wide with fear. The fear that now ran down her spine in cold shudders. (Words cannot even describe how much I hate that sentence.  In fact, I think I hate this entire paragraph.  Not only is it incredibly cliche to begin a story with your MC waking up, but a fragmented sentence talking about fear running down a spine in cold shudders is also ridiculous.) The fear that had lingered in her heart for months, a small consequence of war.

What was going on? (This all seems to be a bit dramatic.)

“Esta, where are you?”  Her father's voice rang in her ears. Papa. Papa's face trickled into Esta's mind. His sparkling eyes, his hearty laugh. “Esta! Where is Esta?”

Confusion. Why was Papa upset? He sounded angry. Or scared.

“Could Esta still be inside?

Esta jerked with the realization that he was calling for her from outside. Why was he outside? Her nose burned. She smelled smoke coming through the door. Terror suddenly gripped her, pounding in her chest. Smoke. Fire. Rebels.

The rebels were here.

Kgosi burst through the smoke and crouched in the corner where the girls' mat rested. “Esta, why did you not come with the rest of us?” (If the house is burning down and if they're so very afraid, then why is he taking the time to crouch down and make conversation?)

She sat trembling.

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Overall, everything was a little melodramatic and unrealistic.  No, I am not a fan of Esta's story.

Maybe next time I'll go ahead and share a story from my younger years.  The past couple of pieces have only been about four or five years old.  Keep an eye out. :)