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Reluctant To Post This.

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(edited the "ridiculous" thread title)

Maybe if I post something I've written before, I'll be more open with sharing my writing.

I know I'm not great.

Be gentle.

I usually write prose, and poetry-esque stuff.

This was the first thing I've ever written with some what of a "plot". I wrote this quickly, for me.. not intending on anyone to read it. I know there are probably some grammatical errors and some tense errors. I just felt it was necessary to post something one day. Re-Reading this I find it very cluttered and..I think at times I describe things too much at that takes away from..everything.

I dunno.


*takes a deep breath in*

Exhales this out:

Beautiful city, beautiful day.

Black birds swoop and dive into the branches of snow covered trees.

The gray clouds form an alliance in the war torn sky, blocking out the blue.

The gray sky swirls mockingly over our heads, all while the ground helplessly mirrors the sinister smile of the skies.

The wind pushes it's breath through broken sticks and dead brown leaves. They twirl and dance, as if the wind was attempting to resuscitate them, as if he was trying to play God.

A dried up lake lay in the distance. A place where creatures used to call home and old men would spend the weekends casting lines, fishing.

It is no more.

Hills in the background were once lush green and majestic, they are now brown and dead, if not on fire and burning billows of smoke to the gray above.

The places where the snow has melted, used to be blades of grass and flowers, it is now nothing but mud. There is no sign of animals, besides the occasional blackbirds, and the refugees rioting in the villages in the distance.

All that I own now, is this furious silence that has seemingly hushed the entire earth.

And you and I lay making snow angels under dead tree limbs. We used to joke that the nuclear winter and global warming would cancel each other out, jokes like that held our sanity together.

Your mind never had lines of order, nor were they confined to finity. The arts that you used to lay your eyes upon were always from the most abstract of designs, where intellect bisects the senses. You live on your own plane, and that was your aesthetic.

You turn to me, and brush my face, we don't care about the blankets of ice that lay like glass underneath us.

As I rest my forehead against yours I start to re-collect.

I find comfort that I was with you when the bombs hit. Even the pictures in my mind, a mere recollection, are far too real.

The most prominent thing was the sounds. I remember the screeching that sounded like a thousand violins coming closer and closer to the earth in which our feet were planted. Next the windows shattering, the walls shaking, and I could hear and feel a rumble from underneath us.

I then grabbed your hand and we ran, we ran and didn't look back as we felt immense heat on our backs and we heard buildings crash and fall, deafening our ears, deafening our senses.. one last crashing noise and I couldn't hear a thing, and my vision began to blur as we ran side by side with hundreds of other frantic, confused people.

We were all running to no where, but to some non existent place called "safety".

But despite my blurred vision and my temporary deafness, I knew my sense of touch was intact, because your fingers never untwined with mine.

I also find comfort in knowing the last image those beautiful blue eyes would ever see.

As we ran we hopped the train tracks, scurried down a hill, never looking back..

We then both turned and looked forward. We saw birch trees creating beautiful white stakes in the ground, and nameless yellow flowers carpeting the field. The sky was a red and brown and the field was a field of gold, with trees of white flowers.

We both stopped, you turned to me. No one else was around. Tears in our eyes, you smile. I smile. We sigh.

Then it all flashed red, it flashed orange, it flashed blue.

It was as if the world itself was melting, like sidewalk chalk in the rain, like an oil painting on fire. My body felt as if it was burning.

All of it then faded to black.

I awoke first. Burnt out gray buildings littered the horizon. The air smelt of harsh smoke.

Our yellow flowers were wilted, and our trees were burnt down, two of which, still on fire.

You were next to me, I cradled you in my arms. I didn't want you to see this scene, I wanted you to rest, then we would find out answers to this mayhem, this bombing, this attack.

You awoke rubbing your eyes, then sitting up, again rubbing your eyes but this time harder, you gasp, you were feeling out for me, I grab your hand.

That was the first day that you found out that you had gone blind. Tears welled up behind those beautiful, but now useless, blue eyes.

I held you till the sun came up.

So now, some time later, we sit under destroyed and dead tree branches, in vacant spaces that snow angels once lay.

As I rested my forehead against yours you whisper to me, "So..explain what everything looks like again".

I sit up and cradle you close to me:

"The sky is the bluest you can imagine, a shade just like your eyes, the white clouds make shapes and dance in the neon blue. The tree leaves are bright green and orange, and every now and then the wind will blow, and the leaves twirl and dance to the ground, and fall by our feet. There are hills far ahead, and underneath the snow you can see bits of red and purple, those are the flowers peeking their way out, trying to see the sun.

There is also a lake a mile or so ahead of us, it's frozen, it looks like a mirror and birds slip and fall as they try to scurry across it. To the west of us the snow is melting away, and the grass underneath is thick and green, if we are really quiet deer and foxes come out to find food.

To the east if you look really closely in the sky, you can see red kites with long white tails being flown in the distance, by the children in a village near by.. "

You sigh, and look up at me, smiling...

"That sounds so beautiful." You reply.

"It is, baby." I say as I hold you tight.

It is..