unexpected intrusions of beauty
The people are the first to go. They cling to each other, eyes wide and terrified, as the acid rain flows through the streets, stained crimson and heavy with a thousand empty pleas. They cross bloodstained chests with bloodstained hands and pray like a God nobody believed in three weeks ago is listening, but the desperate offerings of bloodstained souls aren’t enough to save them, and the prayers fade out on their bloodstained lips until there is nothing left to pray for.
The land comes next, crushed by tide after tide of forgotten bodies and hopes lost somewhere in the pounding of the bombs. The shoreline breathes and suffocates and turns crimson and cratered; worn like the barrel of a gun that has been fired too many times for too many things by too many people. Eventually there is nothing left but scars, etched into the bloodstained land like God’s signature on his greatest work of art.
And all the world crumbles until there is nothing left but light – nothing left but the shine of the moon over a bloodstained world and the glow of stars over a land that has forsaken them. But even the moon tires of shining for a land that has stopped breathing and even the stars lose hope in a world that has none and soon the moon has shattered into a thousand bloodstained pieces and the stars have fallen like bullets from Heaven and even the light has been washed away by a bloodstained tide and forgotten on the shore.