From Imaginary Ripples · Stories

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In the ruins of the once proud and majestic city of New Avalon sat a child.
Admist the desolated landscape torn by death and decay sat a small child her
head buried between her knees.
In the burnt out ruins of a family’s home, admist the burnt bodies of a young
family sat a small child her head buried between her knees as she gently rocked
back and forth.
Admist the stench of death, next to the starved, radiation poisoned body of a
young man sat a small child her head buried between her knees as she gently
rocked back and forth. And she wept.

Admist the ruins of the once proud and majestic city of New Avalon a child wept.
In the desolated landscape torn by death and decay a small child, her head
between her knees, wept.
Admist the burnt out ruins of a family’s home, next to the burnt bodies of a
young family a small child, her head between her knees as she gently rocked back
and forth, wept.
In the stench of death, admist the starved, radiation poisoned corpses of young
men a small child, her head buried between her knees as she gently rocked back
and forth, wept. And she wept tears of blood.

She wept. She wept for the dead. She wept for the land. She wept for the city.
She wept for the living. She wept tears of blood.

But mainly, she just wept.

Amongst the grand structures of the great city of Futuna stood a man.
Admist the silent streets and howling winds in a city filled with guilt stood a
young man with a haggard face.
On the majestic, curving streets of a guilt-ridden city, amongst the shocked
people, stood a young man with a haggard face and aged eyes.
Admist the sullen victors of a long war, in a city that did not celebrate the
victory of a long war stood a young man with a haggard face and aged eyes. And a
tear ran down his face.

In the grand structures of the great city of Futuna a tear ran down the face of
a man.
Amongst the silent streets and howling wind of a city filled with guilt a tear
ran down the face of a young man with a haggard face.
Admist the majestic, curving streets of a guilt-ridden city, with the shocked
people, a tear ran down the face of a young man with a haggard face and aged
eyes.
Amongst the sullen victors of a long war, admist a city that did not celebrate
the victory of a long war a tear ran down the face of a young man with a haggard
face and aged eyes. And his tear was blood.

The tear ran down his face. The tear ran for the living. The tear ran for the
city. The tear ran for the land. The tear ran for the dead.

But mainly, the tear just ran.

The man stood and the child sat.
The young man with the haggard face stood and the small child sat, her head
buried between her knees.
The young man with the haggard face and aged eyes stood and the small child sat,
her head buried between her knees as she gently rocked back and forth.

The two looked at each other. Their eyes locked and pain shined from them. The
man slowly, sadly, painfully shook his head. Slowly, tears brimming in her eyes,
painfully the small child nodded her head. The man opened his mouth to speak.
Stopped. And closed his mouth. The small child slowly, understandingly,
painfully nodded her head.

The small child sat her head between her knees as she gently rocked back and
forth and the young man with the haggard face and aged eyes stood.
The small child sat her head between her knees and the young man with the
haggard face stood.
The child sat and the man stood.

The dead laid. The dying died. The living wept. The ground shook in sorrow and
heaved with pain. But the world spun and circled it’s sun. And the universe
carried on without a care.

Yet a man stood and a child sat. And He stood and She sat in sorrow. And She sat
and He stood in pain. And He stood and She sat for all eternity. In sorrow and
in pain and in guilt He stood and She sat. Always.

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