Some call it the wasteland, others the apocalypse, but to me, its just home. Its all I’ve ever known home to be. As I feel my consciousness ebbing away at night, my head is strained from the violent sight of bloodshed as the gunshots continually replay in my mind. Drifting off to sleep, all things begin to fade to silence at last. Screaming, my chest immediately lifts to ninety degrees, and my eyes widen with fear. Sweating profusely, shallow rapid breathing and my heart pounding frantically against its cage of ribs.
Two twenty two am. Letting out a deep and steady breath, I relax my eyes shrunk back into my own skin and attempt to regain my sanity. Exhausted by it all. I fall back onto my rigid mattress and lay my head down against my cold pillow. ” Think of anything”, I mutter under my breath. Anything to relieve myself from the disturbing images that are fused into my brain. But it was something about the brutal and perilous sound of cannons in the distance that compelled me to envision the complete opposite. I visualised a meadow on a quiet spring day full of vivid and unique flowers that glimmered against the beaming sunlight and caught the smooth brush of wind every now and then. Tranquil and serene, peace flowed through the meadow like an effortless ribbon of water that streams through a river. I had never experienced this before, but the idea of it lay so close to my heart.
Eight thirteen a.m. I awaken to the normality of gunshots and the nauseating smell of death that was just another everyday occurrence. The feeling of my brain shifting gears between unconscious and fully aware is draining. It consumes every ounce of right and wrong and leaves my soul feeling empty. Standing on two feet I begin to circle around my room pointlessly while trying to ignore the outside surroundings. Eventually, I give in as my curiosity takes over. Tenderly drawing the curtains aside, the sight of war is unveiled infront of my eyes. Chaos and ferocity is staring at me. The wailing sirens struck fear into the struggling crowd of panicking civilians. Children crying. Buildings collapsing. Corpeses rotting. Bullets were not moving through the air, they were simply atmosphere. The screams outside were silenced for longer than normal. A chilling sensation runs through to me bones but before I had time to take another breath, a deafening bang caused the city to rapidly warp into flames. Explosions. Speechless I stood my heart dropped. Struggling to gather myself I took notice of a young child. He lay on the rubble helpless and restricted. Apprehensive, I needed to see him. My mother clutching onto my wrists, desperate for me to get him. I stopped instantly when I saw it. Two bullets to the heart, the little boy lay in his fate. I turned away, shaking my head in disbelief. Trembling, I took a step closer, my lips began to quiver as I quietly whimpered. Hesitantly turning back, a single teardrop rippled down my cheek. For moments earlier a child had walked the street but now there was only blood, crumbling walls and a sense that all that was good in the universe had cried out in pain.
He was too young. Too innocent. Kneeling down, I caught a glimpse of his deep, green eyes. I gazed intently at them as they reminded me of something familiar. Tilting my head, I paused to think. My face lit up and I half smiled. My visions of the peaceful meadow came back to me. Butterflies filled the air with new changed and beginnings. Nature gave animals a habitat to be able to live and survive. Flowers blossomed gracefully as they brought a sweet fragrance to the atmosphere. Something about these visions gave me hope. A hope that maybe one day I can experience it. A hope that maybe one day I can call it home.