journal · prose

Catastrophe

I could sense that our end was at hand. It had been slowly descending upon us and was closing in at last; I could almost touch it! Could see it in the lines of confusion and sorrow etched into your face, the anger sparking in your eyes. There would be nothing left to salvage from this wreckage. Nowhere left to hide what I had done. Yet still I tried to stop it, falling to my knees at your feet, howling with the mirth of true despair. You must not see! You cannot know! Too slow. Too late. What was now known could not be unknown – my world caught fire and the earth turned to ash. There is no going back this time, I thought… and watched the wind sweep away the dust.

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