Everywhere. Everyday, this being her tenth.
It was all she saw, darkened skies, like rainy days. Rock and rubble. Wood. Long and thick laying across the streets, smashing into windows. Glass turned grey, even the green.
You could glimpse into people's lives where the buildings had only half fallen.
The only life was the soot and the dead leaves rolling with the winds. Dry. Dead and loud.
She barely noticed the smell anymore. Just when new ones hit and only for a little while.
She was the runner. The two men who had once been there had now been gone for weeks.
She had volunteered, because she was the eldest of the young left and it was to be expected. And because she needed to get out. She needed to see it. More than just across the road.
And so she got to see it.
She was horrified with herself because she had expected more, back on that first day.
It was bad. Her eyes had seen that. But her imagination had seen worse.
And she would enjoy her runs. The feel of fresh air on her face. It was almost like a bath. She had not had one in so long.
She would feel guilty for her pleasures, on the way back. She would vomit then, long thick heaves, more long trails of spit, then anything.
Everything happens so fast, the earth trembling, vibrating, so angry. It is all she knows as she stands on the sidewalk. She cannot remember what happened before this moment and it scares her.
She knows they have been hit. And she has to take cover. She has to. She has to now. She swallows hysteria in one quick, tasteless gulp.
And then she runs, but she does not know to where. She knows nothing in front of her. Things have changed. She slows her breathing. Things become clearer.
She notices rubble, thick and strong with a triangle opening. She takes it.
There is no light coming from inside. The only light comes from the triangle behind her. She is crouched, deep in her heels, but she is tall. She holds her hand out and feels nothing. She takes a few step forward. When her hand still feels nothing, she sits. She is coming out of her shock.
"I am brave," hisses a voice. "Who are you?"
She does not know if it is smart to sit there with her mouth shut tight.
But she does.
It was all she saw, darkened skies, like rainy days. Rock and rubble. Wood. Long and thick laying across the streets, smashing into windows. Glass turned grey, even the green.
You could glimpse into people's lives where the buildings had only half fallen.
The only life was the soot and the dead leaves rolling with the winds. Dry. Dead and loud.
She barely noticed the smell anymore. Just when new ones hit and only for a little while.
She was the runner. The two men who had once been there had now been gone for weeks.
She had volunteered, because she was the eldest of the young left and it was to be expected. And because she needed to get out. She needed to see it. More than just across the road.
And so she got to see it.
She was horrified with herself because she had expected more, back on that first day.
It was bad. Her eyes had seen that. But her imagination had seen worse.
And she would enjoy her runs. The feel of fresh air on her face. It was almost like a bath. She had not had one in so long.
She would feel guilty for her pleasures, on the way back. She would vomit then, long thick heaves, more long trails of spit, then anything.
Everything happens so fast, the earth trembling, vibrating, so angry. It is all she knows as she stands on the sidewalk. She cannot remember what happened before this moment and it scares her.
She knows they have been hit. And she has to take cover. She has to. She has to now. She swallows hysteria in one quick, tasteless gulp.
And then she runs, but she does not know to where. She knows nothing in front of her. Things have changed. She slows her breathing. Things become clearer.
She notices rubble, thick and strong with a triangle opening. She takes it.
There is no light coming from inside. The only light comes from the triangle behind her. She is crouched, deep in her heels, but she is tall. She holds her hand out and feels nothing. She takes a few step forward. When her hand still feels nothing, she sits. She is coming out of her shock.
"I am brave," hisses a voice. "Who are you?"
She does not know if it is smart to sit there with her mouth shut tight.
But she does.
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