‘I am become death.’

I looked at the destruction; at all the nothingness. Who I was lay in ruins at my feet and it was too soon to tell who I would become.

In retrospect, I could identify all the red flags. I had always imagined that destruction would work like an errant match thrown into a dry forest resulting in a sudden hot uncontrollable blaze. But my death crept up on me like a silent deadly snake winding its way around my neck. In the end, it was a relief when ‘something is wrong but I don’t know what’ converted into ‘oh, it was this.’

Too numb to worry about damage control, I stood there dumbly, in the field where my carcass lay strewn, ugly in its vulgarity. I stared empty-eyed at the flower shooting out of the doom. It seemed my death was to harvest life: cold, ironic…but…appropriate.


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