Ink-dark roar

An ink-dark roar emerges from the ground. A rumble that becomes the blackest sound; a noise unlike any other, that increases until it is the loudest thing ever heard. The noise is so thick that it melts the soles of shoes and shatters the pages of newspapers lying horrified on breakfast tables. People are not screaming or shouting because no one can hear them. It is electrifying for the cats. All manner of objects are destroyed; the wanted and the unwanted. It obliviates an entire day of life. All will be gone before sense returns slowly, blinking.

"Are we standing here? Are we alive? Are we back in the earth that I know? Is the reality of before a different reality than now? Or has reality never changed? Is this event an inseparable part of reality?" I'm conscious of very little now. One word has not left my mind: silence. That is all I want, but somehow even the concept is hard to grasp now, with all that is in my ears.

North Korea nuked us, I'm thinking. Did they do it? Blow the shit out of us? I expected to hear sirens. I expected trembling, agony and violence. I expected murder around every corner, I expected to gag on all the gristle that was beneath the skin. I didn't expect to laugh, and to find venom dripping from my own fangs, or to find fangs in my own mouth. I didn't expect that the taste of it was so full, so bristling with juice and flavor. I didn't expect it to be like sea water filling me up. I didn't expect to become a concrete shadow, mouth open and expecting to wail.

Oh, that is how it is.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/asia-pacific/5103394.stm

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