Friday, August 6

Children Sleeping

The candle-lit town was poised below, fully expecting the oncoming slaughter. Fathers held mothers, mothers watched sleeping children have the pleasant dreams the adults had lost many months before. The sun grew dim in the sky these days – even light was reticent on those who were so obviously damned.

The night was thick about the hills. The damp caress of these lofty allies offered no warning to the quiet ones lying in their shadow. The fires of the approaching armies would not be seen until their very town was lit.

The very walls were holding their breath for the end.

Everyone old enough to realise knew that the time was approaching. More armies had been seen, more than every before, on the plains and even the foot of the hills. Collecting crops became more and more dangerous as the season wore on.

The clock in the centre of town had stopped. It had worked since the bombs, but even time had gone. First it had become transparent, then intermittent, and finally silent.

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