As the world is shaking beneath my feet like the rumbling crunch of a volcano, my eyes glaze over.
The fright of death is more crippling to me, and more a presence in my soul than my own beating heart.
Stuck frozen as if all the time of the Earth had stopped to watch for itself.
The bellowing cries of plea from my brothers, fallen to the ground.
The grip I have of reality is fast overwhelmed by the chaos of the dying.
My thoughts trembling in my mind as the very air around me purges sense from my bones.
I fall.
Upward looking to the dark greyness that’s become the mid day sky.
A sky alive with fire and smoke, and all manner of flying things.
Silence encompasses me for the first time in what seems like a lifetime.
I breathe, breathe as though every breath is a symphony requiring tireless thought.
My purposeful pause between each cycle, I listen to the drum of my heart bursting through my chest and ears.
I hear the dying. I hear the crying.
Taunting clatter and pounding overhead condemning us to the mud beneath.
Still and broken I lie.
I hear the dying. I hear the crying.
A wave of force ripples to my side nudging me, burning my body.
Scattered parts of wood and ash, bone and rock sprinkle awash down on my face.
Choking, my stomach flutters.
I hear the dying. I hear the crying.
My eyes open with questionable recognise.
My bedroom ceiling, calm and content.
My wife’s hand upon my chest, a question of soft remorse to my wellness.
My brothers, where are you?
I hear the dying. I hear the crying.