Death Of A World

The butterflies flutter in the meadow beside the rabbits. Such sweet helpless fragile beauty, hanging by slender threads in the darkness of the swiftly onrushing midnight.

A sudden blast rips apart a restaurant. People fall, bleed, flee. Flames and shrapnel everywhere. The darkness is upon them.

A group of friends come out of the cinema hall laughing. They take a swig from the bottle they clutch and burst out giggling, holding onto each other, wishing they never need leave. The sunset colours the sky vibrant orange and shades of Ferrari crimson. The clouds slowly gather, but they goof off in blissful oblivion.

The falsely cheery electric chandelier lights up a table set for a family dinner. All around it they sit, grins plastered on their faces, making small talk, chewing delicately, there and yet not there. The storm clouds hover above the roof.

The girl looks up from her strokes at the swimming pool. The sky has burst open and sheets of rain engulf the little pool. She stands in the water and lifts up her arms, feeling the power of the drops searing her bare skin like bullets and pummelling her upturned face, revelling in the liquid glory drenching her senses.

He sits alone in his bedroom, the door shutting out the outside world. He is focused solely on his guitar, on the purity of the notes and the harmony of the chords. His music transports him away from his dull reality. It gives him wings. It is his escape.

Someone sits before her computer, headphones on and fingers flying. She finds support and friendship in the ‘virtual world’. She hides before the glare of her screen, masking her loneliness and revealing her heart to a bunch of pixels and yellow smileys.

The boy buries himself in his textbooks. The arcane concepts and ideas draw him in. He turns his back to the window and bends eagerly over electrophilic aromatic substitution. The owls' hoots rent the dark night outside in vain.

And they lie on their beds at night, staring at the ceiling, wondering why they feel so empty. What went wrong? What have they lost? What must they find? The questions whirl in their heads like puppies chasing their own tails, round and round. The disdainful cat sits on the windowsill and licks its paws, occasionally smiling its all-knowing Cheshire grin.

They are all zombies in their world. Dead. Devoid of feeling and emotion. The walking, talking dead.

I live in this world too.
I am dead to these things.
I am dead to the world.

I come alive only for you.