There are no birds
How do I describe it? It was not like anything. It simply was.
The dragon of war has belched fire everywhere. I tread carefully over rubble and pieces of unknown things–fetid things I cannot name, do not want to recognize. Figures slither and lurk in the shadows. I step away. I think all the beauty is gone from the city. Lilacs release their sweet, wild perfume then bow down. Heavy with rain that is now falling in fat drops, I bow, too, as though to the god of the inevitable. I hear the whispers of ghosts all around me, but it is the living I fear.
I live in a nightmare. “To sleep perchance to dream,” the tragic prince said. But I think there’s little difference now. All the birds have flown away. I wonder if I imagined the lilacs.
Written for dVerse Prosery. This might be part of my series, but I hope it can stand alone. It could be almost any time or place in history. The prompt line to be incorporated within the text is:
“…city lilacs
release their sweet, wild perfume
then bow down, heavy with rain.”
From Helen Dumore’s, “City Lilacs”