A salty ocean breeze caresses my face, and low tides coat my bare feet in foamy water as I stand on the shore. The palm trees overhead shade me from the remaining sunlight and sway in a perfect synchronized rhythm, the shake of their branches creating a hushed beat to the set of the sun, nature providing its own unique farewell as the day comes to a close. The world seems so simple, so perfect; a picture without creases, without smudges or dents, a flawless reality.
In the passage of a single moment, the world is gone and I am alone. An empty room with banged up walls, the ripped floorboards and holes in the ceiling evidence to the hell they’ve endured. It’s falling apart, crumbled beyond the point of usefulness, abandoned by the people who once took shelter here. The sounds of a lit bomb whistle overhead and I know without doubt the missile will find its mark.
There’s no place left to go, no safe place left to hide, and even as I dream of the beach and its gentle breezes, I fight for my own reality, unable to separate the surreal projections of my mind from the physical. It’s as if the universe is mocking me, teasing me with possibilities. But I’ll die here, shuttered in and closed off from the world.
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