A bit of background. I've found that I'm not scared of much. The only two things that I would say terrify the shit out of me are public speaking (ironic, because I do it a lot at protests) and the idea of nuclear war.
Hey ma, I'm home. Ma? Are you okay? I'm home, hello...
Look, I'm sorry I've been away for several days, I can't cross the city in one go any more. I think I'm getting weaker. I've started coughing up blood.
Oh, ma. You let the fire go out. You'll freeze if you do that. Fah, stone cold ashes and everything. It needs starting again too, I managed to find some food which would be better warmed up.
Could you just say something, anything? Please? It's because I smell like the rain, isn't it. I know you kept telling me not to go out in the rain. The new rain burns if you dance in it, I know, but I had to. I couldn't make it back otherwise. I'm sorry, please just say something. Please.
The sky's still on fire, ma. And the big flags over by the main hall are about ready to fall down, they're rather burnt by now. The wind doesn't smell like death as much though. Still does in here. Ugh.
I saw a flower today, Ma. They said nothing would grow again for decades if the war happened, but there it was, sticking up between the paving slabs like some weird gesture against what happened. Remember it?
The buildings toppling in on themselves, the bitter taste in the air. The light, always the light from the sky being on fire. Remember? Gah, I'd be shocked if you remember anything ma, you haven't moved for months. Haven't drunk, haven't eaten. I know you prefer for me to eat, but I don't feel right having it all.
How about today, ma? Eating yet? Come on, I've apologised, so please talk to me. You're always like this. Would you talk if I brought you that flower I saw? Would it make you happy enough to acknowledge my existence?
I'm sick of being alone. Please talk to me. Sick of this broke city. Sick of the burning rain. Maybe God will wake up some time and put the sky out. Maybe there's no sun up there any more, just endless fire, everywhere, burning eternally like the pits of hell. Maybe that's where we are now. In hell. For what we did to the world.
Ma? Food's done.
Ma?
Please talk to me, I miss talking. Please wake up.
I don't want to be alone.