Ruins

From the hills above my old home, I see fire erupting. Automobiles rush along the roads in mass exodus. I watch my old friends run, screaming for their mothers, their children, their gods. The great clamor's magnitude overpowers nature. The valley fades from view in the wake of the chaos.

I cannot watch, but ignoring it would only bring me more pain. Nobody else stays, but I remain.

The burning buildings begin to collapse. My heart aches for those trapped inside, but it does not bring me to tears. None of it brings me to tears - I'm beyond crying. The disaster wounds me, attacks me, but there is no-one to be sad for, no-one to receive the force of my frustration.

Dusk grows nearer. Little else but the streets remain visible. What remains of the city remains under rubble. I begin to turn toward the direction from which I came, but a small bit of paper catches my eye. As I approach it, I realize it is a fragment of a newspaper, blown by the wind from the city. Its edges are charred and torn, but two words of headline remain legible:

"Internal Threat."

I return my gaze to the ruins of the city, and I see that a single building survived the otherwise ubiquitous destruction.

I shut my eyes for a moment, and open them again. I feel my fist close around the paper.

The tears never come, but the anger does.