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Holocaust by Baka Gothic Kitsune
I step outside,
And take in the silence.
Just gray sky,
And blankets of white,
As far as the eye can see.
Even this dim light is blinding
Compared to the darkness within.
I watch my bare feet
As I stumble forward
Into the drifts.
My tiny footprints are left behind
Like so many fingerprints in the dust.
The snow is still falling. . .
Slowly,
Gracefully,
Softly,
Peacefully,
Silently.
Not even the slightest hint of a breeze,
Disturbs its’ gentle descent.
I open myself to the gray abyss,
Extend my tongue,
And catch a bit in my mouth. . .
But viciously,
My body rejects it.
It’s bitter, metallic.
I hold out my hands
And watch a single speck
As it floats into my open palms.
I wait for it to melt.
Instead, the amount increases,
Gathering in my bony fingers.
I feel no cold.
Perhaps I’ve gone numb?
Maybe, just maybe,
Beneath this frail garment,
Threadbare and torn,
My emaciated remains
Are too weak to stay warm.
Is there any heat left in my thin, ailing frame?
I cough.
The white mound in my hands is blown away,
Like so much dust in the wind,
And for a moment,
The silence is shattered.
The sound reverberates,
Echoing back a hundred fold.
Shaking, I bring my hands to my face.
A fine gray-white residue
Clings to my raw pink skin.
Trembling,
Falling to the ground
In a cloud of it,
I realize the truth with sudden clarity.
Tears carve rivers down my face
And form a pattern,
Like blood spatters on the ground.
How can it be. . .?
The sky is raining ashes. . .
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