Elusus

Red smoke rises in the East.

Black smoke billows from the West. 

And here are we. Stuck in the middle. In the middle of north, and the middle of south. 

Where the winds meet, smash together. Rebounding away. Away. Away. 

The winds carry the ash.

They carry the stench of death.

Of blood. 

And here are we. 

We are the cause.

We are the cure.

We are the destruction.

We are the rebuilding.

But we do nothing.

Our words echo around us as we sit in a cement room.

Shaking from all we have done.

“The world is ended..” 

Ended.