Church bells rang across barren city. Not mechanical ringing of old, but pulled warning human hands upon rope, controlling metal tongues reverberating against steel. Heeding alarm, body turned and ran upon crumbling cement. Leaf of changing season fell from hand, embedded between left behind cracks--lost from hopeful thought. Dress swayed as bare feet pounded echoing sidewalks. Sidewalks speaking stories of times past--children playing, dogs barking with waging tails, sun bathing and blue skies. Everything in play now, brown with dust. Clouds covered homes left in sinister expression. All life running, all hiding.
Hands clutched, soles dark with dirt, panic took over. Panic to live. Life ingrained deep in soul. If trigger for survival wasn't there--none of this would be happening. Bells would be silent, sidewalks bare, homes only inhabitants would be the skeletal bones of a race lost by their own makings. And yet--running, breathing, hiding, waiting--a race remained, if only just.
Sound deafening--a heavy whistle cracked space crashing against ears. Hands cupped them to provide small relief. Only seconds and explosion hit, pulling body from earth. Feather thin fabric whipped face and there was ringing. Ringing jarring the bones. Ringing attempting to escape the frame. Blood trickled from ear to chin. Lips parted and mouth tasted empowering iron. Life still clung on to move.
Earth still shaking, a hole on the remnants of a hollow city left by weapon. Debris covered feet, legs, torso, arms. Body's only portion not bathed in battle: Ears.
Ears cupped by hands. Ears ringing, ears fighting, ears waiting. Waiting to listen--listen to words that would explain: WHY?
Find the Instagram photo that inspired this short bit of writing by following @abaa (click on name to see photo)
