Small Stories

Bomber

You gaze across the treacherous land that used to be your home. Your breathing falters as you wonder 'what have I done?'

Gagging at the smell, you try to shield yourself from the smoke cloud forming only 200 yards away.

Running as far as you can away from the cloud that which you made, you trip and stumble. However, you carry on, knowing that you can't stay there. Memories... painful memories fill your mind and you picture the terrified faces of those that saw you. You remember the begging and pleading for you not to do it. The strong brave man that took his life for yours, comes to mind. If only he hadn't. He was someone's son; or father; or husband.

You remember the looking in the shop window and seeing a reflection that will haunt you even past death.

Insanity. You looked insane. You knew what you were going to do, yet like the messed up, stupid and untrustworthy person you are, you did it anyway.

You begin to shake... all you can see is red. You begin to pummel a slab of concrete, as an incredibly painful stabbing sensation spreads through your arm, bringing you back to the little sanity left inside your broken mind.

Slowly, you lift your head. You ogle the concrete. A cognizance for where the slab came from, drowns you in a sorrow that is not easily taken away.

Your home. A place where you laughed; cried; and enjoyed those little moments with your family, who you will never see again. Behind that slap, lies another, and behind that another. You soon begin to realise that the next piece of 'concrete' is not what is seems to be.

Your legs begin to weaken, with the shaking of your hands. You feel as though your ribcage is going to break from the cacophonous beating... duh- Dunn, duh- Dunn. In horror, you quickly you crumble to the ground, much like the buildings around you, and beg at the doll like shell, of a rotting body that was way too familiar for comfort.

Your father.

The man that raised you from that curious, adventurous toddler that you were, into the person you are now.

Is all this destruction there fault for not teaching you right? Or yours, for not learning it correctly?

No, it's not their fault.

How can you even think for a second, think that they are the reason for your cities extermination?

It's yours and you know it.

How you haven't passed out yet, you'll never know.

You wish you could pass out, fall, hit your head on a rock and join your loved ones up in the highest of places.

But, no.

You wouldn't go there; you would go down. Lower than the deepest depths of the ocean for all that you've done. Not only that but if you tried to join your family, they would send you away.

Holding onto that little piece of sanity and dignity, which seems to be rotting as fast as the world around you, you stand up. Brush of the invisible dust, that if anyone else was around they also wouldn't see. And turn around, to look for a new home.

Meandering through the breaking city, you feel as though staring at the crumbling building, in which your friends used to live, will free you from the monster you are. The fractured buildings scream at you; while the incandescent flames lick your goose bump covered arms. Hot ember lights cause flickers of fire to dance like the stars in the sky above your head. As you stumble along down the cracked, broken road. You stare at your feet. You try to fixate your mind on them and lose yourself. If only it were so simple to escape from the city in which you destroyed Cold and numb you wiggle your toes in hope to feel something other than this tedious pain. Crunccchhh... you feel a strange sensation in your foot. Curiously you look down and see the only thing you were trying to get away from.

A skull. A thick, rotting and crumbled skull lies under your foot, among the rubble.

In another attempt of escape; you look up.

You apprehend that a translucent fog that has risen from the ground to head level.

The fog just blurs the city, making it look like the landscape you painted in art, which was only about a week ago.

Looking at the street ahead, you picture how it was only a matter of days ago. Rivers of people flooding the streets, not the whistling wind that has much space to roam free. Buzzing lights fill your mind at you realise that, much like the light in your eyes, they too have disappeared.

Collapsed street lamps almost trip you over, as you hurry down the street. Almost as if you were a fox trying to get away from the blood hounds and men with guns, who's only target in live is for you to be dead...