Last life to live
As I watched the cigarette burn, my thoughts went spiraling into a state of devastation…
I stood gazing at a city that was once a bustling town, but is now ablaze. The people are trapped in which was once there sanctuary. They would run to the streets for safety, but there doors are blocked by heat and disaster. Even if they where to make it to the streets, they wouldn’t be much better off, for the streets are covered in fire and carnage. Smoke clings to the air so thickly, so that from one apartment building, all that was in view of the building that was mealy across the street was an orange hazy glow.
The focus then turns to a single mother trapped in her two-bedroom apartment, which was once decorated in floral patters from the hangings on the walls to her second hand sofa. Sweat rolls down the worried mothers face as she clings to her five-year-old daughter feeling the heat press in. The five-year-old girl was dressed in her Sunday best on the account that it was her first day of school, she is wailing due to the fact that her pink-checkered dress is smothered in soot and is afraid of the consciences that her mother will press on her; completely oblivious to the danger she was amidst.
With the heat pressing closer to the forgotten American family, all they can do is cling to one another and hope that it will all go away with a blink of an eye. But alias, with every blink of their tear filled eyes their lower end home slips further into devastation, and they slip closer, and closer to death.
As the floral wallpaper starts to peel, the fire inches closer, lapping with hunger. Leaving the family to cling and hope it will go away.
Crying, five-year old now aware of the danger is was in by the sheer look of terror trapped in her mothers eyes and the ever pressing heat, she stops crying about her dress and starts crying about her death. Holding desperately to one another, the family waits to ride out yet another disaster, and that’s all they can do is wait.
With the heat now close enough to singe the hair on the single mothers arms and began to curl the hair of the five-year old girl witch was once neatly tied back pony tails, they cling together, and wait to be incinerated.
The fire creeps closer and all they can do is cling prying to a god in which the do not believe in that it will go away. But alias, the fire burns closer to them, closer to their love, closer to their family, and closer to their soul.
The mother can’t help but tell her daughter to wait for it will all be over soon. And it was. The fire consumed their bodies; they’re being, just like another piece of furniture.
That girl, she could have been a world leader. She could have been someone to inspire the world, young and old alike to better themselves for human kind, rather then just for themselves. But, now all she is is simply a pile of ashes in a ruin of a town waiting to be swept away with the morning sunrise. Waiting to be filmed by news cameras to be placed on the evening news, right after the baby with the ten inch tongue, and right before the football team that one their first game in five years. All just to fill our human natures need for disaster so we can say with a shrug, “Glad it wasn’t us,” and then go to bed that night content.
I stood gazing at a city that was once a bustling town, but is now ablaze. The people are trapped in which was once there sanctuary. They would run to the streets for safety, but there doors are blocked by heat and disaster. Even if they where to make it to the streets, they wouldn’t be much better off, for the streets are covered in fire and carnage. Smoke clings to the air so thickly, so that from one apartment building, all that was in view of the building that was mealy across the street was an orange hazy glow.
The focus then turns to a single mother trapped in her two-bedroom apartment, which was once decorated in floral patters from the hangings on the walls to her second hand sofa. Sweat rolls down the worried mothers face as she clings to her five-year-old daughter feeling the heat press in. The five-year-old girl was dressed in her Sunday best on the account that it was her first day of school, she is wailing due to the fact that her pink-checkered dress is smothered in soot and is afraid of the consciences that her mother will press on her; completely oblivious to the danger she was amidst.
With the heat pressing closer to the forgotten American family, all they can do is cling to one another and hope that it will all go away with a blink of an eye. But alias, with every blink of their tear filled eyes their lower end home slips further into devastation, and they slip closer, and closer to death.
As the floral wallpaper starts to peel, the fire inches closer, lapping with hunger. Leaving the family to cling and hope it will go away.
Crying, five-year old now aware of the danger is was in by the sheer look of terror trapped in her mothers eyes and the ever pressing heat, she stops crying about her dress and starts crying about her death. Holding desperately to one another, the family waits to ride out yet another disaster, and that’s all they can do is wait.
With the heat now close enough to singe the hair on the single mothers arms and began to curl the hair of the five-year old girl witch was once neatly tied back pony tails, they cling together, and wait to be incinerated.
The fire creeps closer and all they can do is cling prying to a god in which the do not believe in that it will go away. But alias, the fire burns closer to them, closer to their love, closer to their family, and closer to their soul.
The mother can’t help but tell her daughter to wait for it will all be over soon. And it was. The fire consumed their bodies; they’re being, just like another piece of furniture.
That girl, she could have been a world leader. She could have been someone to inspire the world, young and old alike to better themselves for human kind, rather then just for themselves. But, now all she is is simply a pile of ashes in a ruin of a town waiting to be swept away with the morning sunrise. Waiting to be filmed by news cameras to be placed on the evening news, right after the baby with the ten inch tongue, and right before the football team that one their first game in five years. All just to fill our human natures need for disaster so we can say with a shrug, “Glad it wasn’t us,” and then go to bed that night content.