I sat on the roof, looked down into the sun-burnt sky, and tried not to fall.

I watched the fire on the horizon. The sun set and the city burned, smoke welled up, crackle crackle.

I listened as the birds sang songs of the coming apocalypse against the backdrop of falling bombs. The planes drifted overhead like geese, flying in tight V's through the clear evening, ripping through the air like thunder--except it never stopped, it kept on going--they never stopped coming. Lightning came after. Light show, fireworks, Fourth of July, except every flash meant death, every crack-crackle-fizz meant somebody over there was screaming.

I sat on the roof and watched the pretty lights.

I opened my eyes. Colors exploded overhead, the rainbow debris raining down on me. Scraps of burning shrapnel littered the ground, the thunder of roaring jets and falling bombs filled the air. People ran in the streets, screaming and cowering and dying, their faces frozen in terror forever, at least until another bomb hit and blew off their faces. The stench of burning oil mingled with that of burning bodies, and soon the rising smoke filled my nose and I couldn’t smell anything anymore, there was nothing but burning. Buildings collapsed around me, blackened and smoldering, here and there a human limb sticking out from under the rubble. Things that used to be children lay in the dirt, now just bloody pulp. Then the screams were deafened by thunder. The bombers were coming back…

I closed my eyes. Some things are better taken asleep.