each wonderful night in darkness, she would blink up at the inky sky and listen for distant thunder. Its not so distant these days. these exotic days in this world turned to blackness. one hundred years in one hundred dread days as thunder closes all around. And closes closer.
She runs to a place of refuge, a place a prayer, surrounded by black cowering eyes; blinking at inky walls in pews on a sandy floor. Shhh. and thunder cowers in shouts of angry men, men angry at a death from within. they cry and she hides under the alter. quietly cowering in darkness.
Sickening cracks, like ice crunching in too sensitive teeth, like chicken bones being pulled from a carcus. She closes her eyes as the walls crack and crumble. Cries arise from the 1000 other inhabitants, other refugees. Some try to get out, some try to get down, some are crushed before her eyes by falling crosses, and beams. The church comes down arond her.
She tries to get out from under the alter, to get out, to get away from this madness.
"Its easier," a woman holds her hand to stop her, " come it will be easier to come down here and die. Its not for us anymore. Its just easier to die"
She pulled away, terrified by the woman. this stranger. her mother.
a piece of ceiling lands just feet from her and she dives back under the table.
"Come I'll hold you while we die"
She lay in the arms of the woman and promised herself to stay until it was quiet, until the rest were dead. But she would not lay down and die into ease.
"Isn't that what they want from us"
how could it have been so ease?
