Radioactive
Rating: PG
Summary: "Maybe, when you hear explosions and shattering glass, everything seems quiet and slow afterwards."
Words: 611
Notes: I have no idea what happened, this just popped into my head this afternoon. Title stolen from the Kings Of Leon song, 'Radioactive'
Afterwards, it all seemed rather quiet. People stumbling through the streets, helping each other up with bloodied hands on dislocated shoulders, driven by panic. What do you do when everything you know and love has been taken away from you one minute to the next, like someone pulling the rug out from under you? There's so much more to life than what we see each day and so little we really need when push comes to shove.
The sirens I heard weren't loud, and neither were the cries of people begging with their hands thrown towards the sky. Even the helicopters sounded like someone had dampened their sound, and the ambulances seemed to drive by in slow motion. Maybe, when you hear explosions and shattering glass, everything seems quiet and slow afterwards. I wouldn't know anyone able to confirm.
The smell of smoke nipped acidly at my nose, dust drying in my eyes. When I closed them, I saw a body falling from a skyscraper in repeat and the sun cutting through the clouds like it was any other day. They hadn't done anything to deserve this. Or was there someone who did, and all of them had to bear the consequences?
I sat down where I was, cross-legged on the pavement and overwhelmed with loss. What were all these people going to do? A cell-phone with the screen smashed in buzzed on the ground somewhere close to me, but there was no one there to answer. One person, maybe a family, was on the other side, waiting desperately for a father, a sister, a niece, a boyfriend to pick up. I didn't want to know how many millions of unanswered calls the networks would forward until the sun went down.
This was what all the apocalyptic drama films were made of. I couldn't help but think that it would make for a great film set, extras and all. No special effects needed, the dirt and tears on all our faces more realistic than any make-up artist could ever make them seem.
I knew I would have to leave soon. Go to another place, see another city for the first time, arriving there just like I arrived here, with the hopes of falling in love enough to stay this time. I had always been more drawn to places than people, already feeling my heartbeat start to match the pulsing deep beneath the streets few days after I first came somehere new.
Sure, what defined every town, village and capital of the world were the people who inhabited it. But looking around me, the damage had been done; the despair seemed to leak out of every destroyed building, every car wreck and every fire yet to be put out. These people were as broken as their city, inside and out, and even though I had hoped against hope this time would be different, I knew I could not stay.
With this resolution, I got up and turned around. My vision was blurred from unshed tears, shock and disappointment trying to break loose, but I could still make out the street I was standing on. Not seeing, but remembering, I waved my hand in silent goodbye. What would be left of me? Every thought about every book I read here, the ghosts of touches on many hands I shook, something I said that resonated with someone else. My invisible steps would stay in this place even after I was gone, soundless traces on the pavement.
Combing my fingers through my hair, I wiped at my cheeks and smiled to myself. We, who have all the time in the world, are the lucky ones.
Summary: "Maybe, when you hear explosions and shattering glass, everything seems quiet and slow afterwards."
Words: 611
Notes: I have no idea what happened, this just popped into my head this afternoon. Title stolen from the Kings Of Leon song, 'Radioactive'
Afterwards, it all seemed rather quiet. People stumbling through the streets, helping each other up with bloodied hands on dislocated shoulders, driven by panic. What do you do when everything you know and love has been taken away from you one minute to the next, like someone pulling the rug out from under you? There's so much more to life than what we see each day and so little we really need when push comes to shove.
The sirens I heard weren't loud, and neither were the cries of people begging with their hands thrown towards the sky. Even the helicopters sounded like someone had dampened their sound, and the ambulances seemed to drive by in slow motion. Maybe, when you hear explosions and shattering glass, everything seems quiet and slow afterwards. I wouldn't know anyone able to confirm.
The smell of smoke nipped acidly at my nose, dust drying in my eyes. When I closed them, I saw a body falling from a skyscraper in repeat and the sun cutting through the clouds like it was any other day. They hadn't done anything to deserve this. Or was there someone who did, and all of them had to bear the consequences?
I sat down where I was, cross-legged on the pavement and overwhelmed with loss. What were all these people going to do? A cell-phone with the screen smashed in buzzed on the ground somewhere close to me, but there was no one there to answer. One person, maybe a family, was on the other side, waiting desperately for a father, a sister, a niece, a boyfriend to pick up. I didn't want to know how many millions of unanswered calls the networks would forward until the sun went down.
This was what all the apocalyptic drama films were made of. I couldn't help but think that it would make for a great film set, extras and all. No special effects needed, the dirt and tears on all our faces more realistic than any make-up artist could ever make them seem.
I knew I would have to leave soon. Go to another place, see another city for the first time, arriving there just like I arrived here, with the hopes of falling in love enough to stay this time. I had always been more drawn to places than people, already feeling my heartbeat start to match the pulsing deep beneath the streets few days after I first came somehere new.
Sure, what defined every town, village and capital of the world were the people who inhabited it. But looking around me, the damage had been done; the despair seemed to leak out of every destroyed building, every car wreck and every fire yet to be put out. These people were as broken as their city, inside and out, and even though I had hoped against hope this time would be different, I knew I could not stay.
With this resolution, I got up and turned around. My vision was blurred from unshed tears, shock and disappointment trying to break loose, but I could still make out the street I was standing on. Not seeing, but remembering, I waved my hand in silent goodbye. What would be left of me? Every thought about every book I read here, the ghosts of touches on many hands I shook, something I said that resonated with someone else. My invisible steps would stay in this place even after I was gone, soundless traces on the pavement.
Combing my fingers through my hair, I wiped at my cheeks and smiled to myself. We, who have all the time in the world, are the lucky ones.