And Then There Is Nothing Left.

January 20, 2012

The lights sway as the city moans above us, caught in it’s own awkward dance. The city is dying, but we are the ones already in the ground. How is that fair? And yet we do not speak of fairness or of dignity. Not on this day of catastrophic waste.

Somewhere above, the sirens endless sounding, one after another, no melody or grace. We fake slow smiles, telling ourselves that we will see that sky again, the way it was before the bombs, before the great mistakes. We hang our heads and let the sounds focus our minds.

Somewhere above us, in the distance between the horror of wholesale destruction and the horror of waiting, there is the scuffling of monstrous machines. Our ‘protectors’, just as afraid as we are. They will not go up. That should have been the first evidence of our coming annihilation, but we will mark our ignorance as exhibit number one.

We are a foolish people. It is our pride, our national identity to be misinformed and small minded and corrupt. It is our structure. The foundation of this country and this city that is falling above us. And here are we, huddled close, surrounded only by the swaying lights and completely aware of which tools we used to make ourselves this mess. If we do not last the night, at least there is no one else to blame.

And now the sirens stop, though the lights still shake and stutter to a rhythm we can only barely hear. The bombs. Through muffled concrete and layers of metal and dirt, the bombs sound almost like a heartbeat. And we don’t miss the irony in that, though we will never laugh at such a thing.

For we are refugees among the rubble of our own homes. We are the few surviving, to carry on our small and sniveling ideals. We will not rebel against this notion. We will not make ourselves heroes. We know our place. We rise to the top to be toppled. That is our station. That is our destiny.

The war machines keep moving, even after the bombs stop. They wouldn’t want us thinking they weren’t working for our protection.  All of our funds, all our goodwill spent to make us weapons. Security. We are not secure.

The dust will settle slowly, over years, and we will come out blinking at that new sun. We will come out to a new world-one that has existed without us. And we will make it ours again, if we make it through the night.

There is a sound like the echo of a scream. And then there is nothing left.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: