Air Raid

 As a child crosses the road, the bomb lands, cutting short another life. And all the time I wonder, do the people flying those planes, those birds of prey, do they really want to be here, so many thousands of miles away from home? They will be shot down. There are gun towers overlooking the city. The men in those towers will make sure to cut down the Enemy before he can escape into neutral airspace.

 But there’s something different about this time. The sounds of explosion, of death and torture, do not stop. I hear them now, even louder. They should have made their escape, failed or successful, by now. I hear the booming threat of their engines. Why do they strike again? Isn’t this enough death for one day?

 Apparently not.

 Three portentous looking jet-fighters are approaching. A tear rolls down my cheek as I comprehend that it is not yet over. An inner sense of foreboding tells me it soon will be.

 People are panicking. They scurry in all directions, to any shelter they can find. Most will never find the sanctuary which they seek, unless Heaven be true.

 I cross the street to find refuge of my own. I pass the mutilated carcass of the child, now unrecognisable, whose death I witnessed only seconds ago. Were these normal circumstances, I would surely have buckled in a horrified wreck at the sight of such depravity.

 Normal circumstances these are not, and its the city around me which buckles. My legs wane as the jet closes in. I begin to sob as I sense the cold hand of inexorable death reaching out for me. He sees me in his hollow eyes. He laughs at me, mocking my futile attempts to survive.

 Was that laughter I heard? Or was it the mingled echo of pain and lamentation? Its so difficult to tell.

 My eyes cloud. The edges of the buildings around me fuse and I am presented with solid brick. That way leads not to deliverance.

 My eardrums pulsate with the crash of explosions all over the city as the blood frenetically coursing through my veins tries to keep me on my feet for one final effort.

 A bomb blast erupts somewhere to my right. Shards of glass attack the air. Stone and metal are spilled onto the street like crumbs.

 I keep running.

 Unsure of where the next bomb will fall, I have no choice but to run. My chest heaves, my lungs scream. They beg me to stop. Every living ounce of my body tells me to stop, but I keep going. My instincts have taken over now, it’s down to me, the Enemy and Fate.

 A man disintegrates in front of me without his left arm. His light blue t-shirt has been dyed mauve by the pints of blood surging from his shoulder. His face is charred and his jeans are torn. A sorry sight. He screams for help, more grave than any plea I have ever heard, it breaks my heart. I keep running.

 Explosions are now coming thick and fast. Three bombs at once hit the street upon which I now stand. I won’t make it. I quickly duck to avoid the mass of shrapnel which flies around me in every direction.

 More screams. More pain. More death.

 Slowly I lift my head. The road is red. A river of blood is flowing towards me and I feel that it will engulf me. It gathers in the gutter and pours down the drain: a cascade of fresh blood upon the rats which populate the sewers.

 Once more I begin to run. The momentary pause has reminded my legs just how tired they are. I am now running much more slowly. Not even jogging. I stumble and fall to the ground. A sudden searing pain up my right leg seizes my attention. I gaze down and see a large shard of glass jutting from my calf. Small crimson veins are running down the glass. It trickles to the earth. As I look at my leg I discern that my body is scored with cuts and bruises.

 The adrenalin flying around my body dulled the pain but now, as I look at them, the cuts begin to sting. Dozens of gashes on my arms and legs scream in agony.
The blood is still pumping rapidly through my body and each cut throbs.

I slowly pull myself back up off the ground. I look to my right and see a face I know. His name is Frank. Or rather his name was Frank. He lies dead now, his face a vision of Hell on Earth. It seems as though the Devil himself came to shepherd him to his eternal life. His contorted expression causes my lips to tremble. All his left side has been charred by an explosion which lit up a building, but blew out his candle.

 I continue my futile quest, somehow stifling the vomit which burns my throat. My black trousers are bonded to my legs by the blood seeping from my myriad cuts. In some places it is now dry, in others the slits still leak.

 All around me people are still screaming. Bombs, still falling. My ears are numb. I hear everything as though it were from the inside of a bottle.

 As I run, I hear the crunch of glass beneath my feet. I look around myself and notice that every window that I can see has been blown out. Glass coats the road like sugar.

 Forty yards down the street I see a woman running, racked with terror, not just for herself, but for the bundle she is holding tightly against her breast. I realise she holding a baby. Courage musters from nowhere and my gut tells me that I must help. I make my approach but before I can get close the woman and her baby disappear in an advancing wall of fire and smoke.

 Another bomb.

 Realising what I have just witnessed, my eyes widen until I am convinced that they can no longer be held in their sockets. I can feel the wrinkles on my forehead deepen until they are gaping crevasses leading to my frozen brain.

I feel my jaw tighten. My body heaves. The vomit which has fought so long against the oppression of my throat is, at last, liberated. It hits the ground as the smell of it attacks my nostrils.

 Burning smoke and putrid sickness. I must move before every ounce of me is swallowed up in this awful stench.

I look around me. I cannot even comprehend the death and destruction I see. A bomb explodes in front of me. I turn around. Another.

I am thrown to the ground violently. I cannot move. My bones feel broken. My arm feels as though it is on fire. My eyes are all that work. I look down at myself. Where are my legs?! They lie but inches away.

 I hear that sound again. That mixture of pain and sorrow. Or is it? Is it actually laughter I hear this time? Where does it come from?

 "Fool!" it scorns, and laughs again.

 Who is that?

 It is my own thought. He tells me he knew this moment would come. He asks me why I tried so hard. He laughs again. He is getting quieter now, more distant. Day turns to night, laughter to silence, and I fall into a warm sleep. I know I will not wake. I am glad.