After the blaze. After the flame. After the fire and thunder of artillery. After the screams and all-consuming power of the bombs. After the annihilation of all that was supposed to bring joy. After, is the silence, the stillness, the complete absence of color. Dead silence. Rain and gloom and washed out shadows.
The fog settled among the charcoal buildings like the stormy clouds above the charred, smoking ground. All the greenery and color is gone. Grey stillness. The contaminated sky reflects the ashes and ruins of the city below. Putrid smoke rising up to join the rolling steel grey above the still ruined grey of all that was list. The world is doused in rain. Beating the ash into the ground. Creating rivers of sooty water. Chasing the mist off with its bitter tears.
Not a sound breaks the silence. Just the platter of rain and the sizzle of dying fires. Just the wind howling like a lone wolf. Grey, like everything around him. Solitary in the dead city.
~~A/N~~
Sorry for being so depressing. I'm not sure why I am this way. Please tell me what you think.
