The world died ten years ago. It was nothing but a depleted corpse the year following, filled with burnt fragments of life passed. The ashes were washed away by the rain, but the souls of the city were stained.
New York still feels the pain from those scars.
Glass and debris still litter the streets, but nothing can be seen. A ghostly plane of death streaks the sidewalks, scenting of car exhaust and lit cigarettes. Lively coffee shops sprinkle the drab, as do the TV screens bringing life to Times Square. Laughter radiates the screens, dyed various shades of greens and blues. Buses swerve out of the way of zealous pedestrians and the cat-call of taxis dapple the skyline.
Pigeons coo. Teenagers swear. The chaos of the city becomes a lifeline, an alarm to that wakes millions from their lengthy slumber. Patterns train the eye, smells tempt the nose, and same tunes play on the blaring radios, over and over again. Dreams are awakened faces of exhaustion fade. Immigrants come. The needy come. The rich waste their lives away.
Then there is silence. Emptiness. No emotion. No sound.
Here once stood towers of lass, stretching towards the leavens with twin hands.
Gone are the faces of thousands that had broken this sadness. Gone are the failures. Gone are the dreams. Pain is conjured up at the sight of nothingness. Hatred is directed towards scapegoats. All negativity lays a foundation to the eye. Darkness seeps into the earth, but light does too; some have found forgiveness through the horror. Some have found life.
The would move on, but doesn’t forget. Although scarred, it works towards the healing it so desperately needs.
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