This was partly inspired by a very haunting and beautiful song (Hide and Seek) written by a favourite artist of mine, Imogen Heap. The other part was inspired by the fact that i find it almost impossible to open a newpaper anymore without feeling angry, confused and distressed. As a result this was just as difficult to write (being so emotionally involved makes it hard to be eloquent, when you're at the point of being almost numb with horror). 
This is just a first draft. Comments appreciated.

Where are we?

What do you see?

What the hell is going on?

This can’t be happening.

A child is huddled along the streets, tripping relentlessly on unfamiliar potholes and jumping over the streams of sewage that run by her feet. Others are darting in between road and sidewalk traffic trying to trade their merchandise in hope of feeding their families. Black marks splatter the sides of buildings like symbols of death. Shouts, cries and chaotic city noise embodies the stale humid air creating multiple invisible obstacles in the path of humanity. Such sights of poverty and mayhem are not unfamiliar to the small child, who stares at me wide and glossy eyed whilst she shivers and shakes with terror and sorrow.

A teenager stares out the window of her school into the dusty fields. A loud crack punctures the still air and she spins, motionless. A tear glides down her warm cheek as she sees the field filled with scarecrow like fixtures. Angry flames licking at their feet as vultures leer in from the perimeters and cackle with supercilious superiority. By the time she climbs off the roof, and lands on the still cracked earth, she has lost her father and fifteen relatives. In one invasion, she is alone.

A dirty pale room is a mess with bodies, and barely breathing with only whimpers coming from the small children occupying this solemn space. Tubes hang from their flared nostrils and they hold their frail and baby like hands out in welcome. Their chest’s heave making them appear like sides of meat not yet at rest. Their eyes, as brown as conkers, smile bright, hopeful and full of courage. A tired looking woman hands a small bottle half full of a milky substance to a young boy who appears to be asleep. He does not open his eyes, but suckles at the teat. She smiles tiredly and reaches for a bottle of pills, standing lone on a tin vessel.

Streets are awash with blood and the sky is turning pink. Streams of violence slither through the dust and debris paving the way for another massacre of ill understanding and intolerance. The good turn to bad, the bad turn to worse, and the rest are left for dead. No tangible object shall escape the serpent inching its way towards them. They must flee while they can, or get caught in the line of fire.

A woman crawls out of her leech infested tent and washes in the stream with her comrades. She then loads her rifle, and sets about her day.

Crowds cower as they pass the empty void now holding black veils of grief over their city. The sun never shines for long and dust continues to fall, laying crop circles on the concrete.

A boy is abused, and then given a bag of five pence pieces for the privilege.

"oily marks appear on walls
where pleasure moments hung before the take over,
the sweeping insensitivity of this still life"

Spin me around again, and count to ten.

This can't be happening.

A legacy of shattered lives, and innocence lost.

A twisted game of Hide and Seek.