• The soldiers marched with their guns,
    Their masks hiding their faces,
    Their exhales a deep green.

    The ground was a sad grey,
    Ashes falling on it,
    And the flowers withered.

    The citizens were long gone,
    Only soldiers remained,
    And me.

    I scuttled in the attic,
    My provisions were less,
    Day by day.

    I look through a little hole,
    A little hole for a huge world,
    But what’s the point if said world is dead?

    I move,
    Air escaping my lips,
    Used air and not fresh air.

    Air, something I long for,
    For a breeze on my face.

    Suddenly, I hear a sound,
    A sound from below.

    Steps going on this house,
    On this abandoned house.

    Breaths of shallowness,
    As shallow as these soldiers are.

    Creaks on the floor,
    Creaks on the wooden floor to the attic.

    The latch opens,
    Letting brightness burn my eyes,
    But a shadow quickly stops it.

    And then…

    And then nothing.