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Here I stand, atop the knoll by the bubbling creek; where I spent so many happy days as a child. And over to the left lies the spot where we used to come out onto the terrace and eat lunch in the humid summer months. I stand atop the grassy tussock overlooking the sweeping plains of the lush green valley, lustrous with colour and vibrant with activity.
Or rather, that's what I used to see. All that's there now is the bleak and desolate earth, charred like the path to hell itself. The landscape is barren and unyielding, even the Sun glancing off the jagged craters does nothing to enhance its appeal. Not even scrub has grown upon this desolate waste land. The house, and so many memories washed away, living only charred splinters to mark its passing.
The once frothing river, the cool clean river that soothed the body and soul as I ran screeching through it as a child has become a filthy yellow trickle, gradually staining the already scarred rocks as it oozes its way down towards the unrelenting earth.
And that river carries with it my past, my esssence, ebbing away on the stained brook, intertwined and gradually soaked through, drained of all the tender love and leaving in its place only the small yellow channel that slices through the earth.
How did it all happen? I have no idea. Oblivion was not the foretold divine miracle and there was no concrete evidence it had ever happened. All I knew was that one minute I was running down into our bomb shelter to collect a magazine I had left, eager to show my family my name in publication. I returned to see the earth smoldering and everything gone. That's what frightened me the most; massive scales of destruction, total annihilation, as far as the eye could see yet there was no sound, no disturbance, no frightened screams. The event crept across the earth and blotched the land as silently as a spider treads its silk web.
Or rather, that's what I used to see. All that's there now is the bleak and desolate earth, charred like the path to hell itself. The landscape is barren and unyielding, even the Sun glancing off the jagged craters does nothing to enhance its appeal. Not even scrub has grown upon this desolate waste land. The house, and so many memories washed away, living only charred splinters to mark its passing.
The once frothing river, the cool clean river that soothed the body and soul as I ran screeching through it as a child has become a filthy yellow trickle, gradually staining the already scarred rocks as it oozes its way down towards the unrelenting earth.
And that river carries with it my past, my esssence, ebbing away on the stained brook, intertwined and gradually soaked through, drained of all the tender love and leaving in its place only the small yellow channel that slices through the earth.
How did it all happen? I have no idea. Oblivion was not the foretold divine miracle and there was no concrete evidence it had ever happened. All I knew was that one minute I was running down into our bomb shelter to collect a magazine I had left, eager to show my family my name in publication. I returned to see the earth smoldering and everything gone. That's what frightened me the most; massive scales of destruction, total annihilation, as far as the eye could see yet there was no sound, no disturbance, no frightened screams. The event crept across the earth and blotched the land as silently as a spider treads its silk web.
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Here I stand, atop the knoll by the bubbling creek; where I spent so many happy days as a child. And over to the left lies the spot where we used to come out onto the terrace and eat lunch in the humid summer months. I stand atop the grassy tussock overlooking the sweeping plains of the lush green valley, lustrous with colour and vibrant with activity.
Or rather, that's what I used to see. All that's there now is the bleak and desolate earth, charred like the path to hell itself. The landscape is barren and unyielding, even the Sun glancing off the jagged craters does nothing to enhance its appeal. Not even scrub has grown upon this desolate waste land. The house, and so many memories washed away, living only charred splinters to mark its passing.
The once frothing river, the cool clean river that soothed the body and soul as I ran screeching through it as a child has become a filthy yellow trickle, gradually staining the already scarred rocks as it oozes its way down towards the unrelenting earth.
And that river carries with it my past, my esssence, ebbing away on the stained brook, intertwined and gradually soaked through, drained of all the tender love and leaving in its place only the small yellow channel that slices through the earth.
How did it all happen? I have no idea. Oblivion was not the foretold divine miracle and there was no concrete evidence it had ever happened. All I knew was that one minute I was running down into our bomb shelter to collect a magazine I had left, eager to show my family my name in publication. I returned to see the earth smoldering and everything gone. That's what frightened me the most; massive scales of destruction, total annihilation, as far as the eye could see yet there was no sound, no disturbance, no frightened screams. The event crept across the earth and blotched the land as silently as a spider treads its silk web.
Or rather, that's what I used to see. All that's there now is the bleak and desolate earth, charred like the path to hell itself. The landscape is barren and unyielding, even the Sun glancing off the jagged craters does nothing to enhance its appeal. Not even scrub has grown upon this desolate waste land. The house, and so many memories washed away, living only charred splinters to mark its passing.
The once frothing river, the cool clean river that soothed the body and soul as I ran screeching through it as a child has become a filthy yellow trickle, gradually staining the already scarred rocks as it oozes its way down towards the unrelenting earth.
And that river carries with it my past, my esssence, ebbing away on the stained brook, intertwined and gradually soaked through, drained of all the tender love and leaving in its place only the small yellow channel that slices through the earth.
How did it all happen? I have no idea. Oblivion was not the foretold divine miracle and there was no concrete evidence it had ever happened. All I knew was that one minute I was running down into our bomb shelter to collect a magazine I had left, eager to show my family my name in publication. I returned to see the earth smoldering and everything gone. That's what frightened me the most; massive scales of destruction, total annihilation, as far as the eye could see yet there was no sound, no disturbance, no frightened screams. The event crept across the earth and blotched the land as silently as a spider treads its silk web.
Page: