Smoke and Ash

Listen to 'Little House' by Amanda Seyfried. It's tune and soft words brought my heart to tears whilst writing this.

I loved you from the moment my eyes found you in the crowd of terror and pain. You stood there, soot on your arms, and tears dried onto your face. A little boy was in your arms, and I could tell by your expression, and the blood on his body, that he was no longer with us. I wanted to come up to you to close the little boys eyes, and to heal your cracked heart. I could see that you knew the boy, he meant something to you. But I could also see the anger, and the stand off attitude exuding from your tired shoulders. So I just sat here and watched you.

 

I watched you for hours, running back into that building to bring the bodies out to the people that were waiting, and aching to see their loved ones walking back out with you. Only to be brought to their knees when they saw the lifeless bodies in your arms, again and again. I don’t know how you do it.

 

Pick death up time and time again, bringing them to the aching hearts of many, with a closed expression carved into your face. You whisper, ‘I’m sorry’ only once, before running back into that building of broken bones. I can’t help but wonder if I hadn’t have left when I did, if I would be one of those bodies in your arms. Would I be just another face amongst the rubble? Blood and bones exposed to the weather of May, lugged out in arms of the men who can, laid under the white sheets that our eyes can’t ignore. That could have been me.

 

I hated you from the moment my eyes found you in the crowd of terror and pain. You were walking from the many broken doorways, through the smoke and ash, walking directly towards me. My little sister was in your arms, her chest was not moving, and her head was weighed down by a million bricks. I wanted to scream at you, for bringing my worst nightmare to truth. Why couldn’t it have been someone else? Why did it have to be you?

 

You hesitated before whispering that solitary apology before slowly walking back. You saw me too. You knew I was here, and you could barely stand to walk away. You stopped when you heard the scream rips its way through my fragile body, and you turned back around when my tears began to cascade. Her eyes were open and staring, I could still see the fear so clear. The suffering and the pain were written all over her marred lips, the plea of help dying with her. I couldn’t stand to look at her, but I couldn’t look away.

 

Your hand swept softly over her young face, closing her eyes. A soft prayer escaped your lips, and I swear I felt her soul ascend to heaven. I thought that would help, but it just hurt me so much more. She wasn’t hurting anymore but she was gone. My little sister was gone, she would never be here to pain me again. She wouldn’t be here to ask me for money, for advice, for a little of her time. My little sister was dead.

 

My knees were bloody from the rough streets, and my throat was raw from the acid rising against my will. Her soft hair tangled with my tears as I clutched her too my chest, my cries were now silent, and I couldn’t stop them tumbling from my mouth. They hurt almost as much as it did to see you carrying her out. Her juvenile dreams were covered by heavy eyelids, her artistic hands were crumbled into dust, and her loving heart. That was dead. She was dead.

 

Through the many hours that we sat here, I saw you carry out so many more bodies. From young children like my sister, to the parents and then the important business people who worked just next door. I wonder if that was the intention, to take as many lives as possible. To break as many hearts as possible as a warning, to ruin to many beautiful things. Why did it have to be here? Why did it have to be them? They did nothing wrong.

 

My sister did nothing wrong. She hadn’t even reached the age of double digits yet, how could you take her away from me? Why did you have to smear her golden crown with wretched blood. The same blood that will always be on your hands, you will never be free from this devastating disaster that you wanted. That you created. I swear, if I could, I would make you pay.

 

I would make you suffer so much more than any of these people did, combine all the hurt from everyone and shove that down your throat. I wonder how much you would be watching with glee then. I wonder how that would make you feel. The father of the young mum you carried out 2 hours ago is screaming at the cameras, his words reiterate what my mind was thinking. He is cursing the nation that let you live, promising that he will rain fire on your home and those that you love.

 

My heart aches for him. No one should die before their own kids, let alone their grandkids. The grief was written all over his weary face. The tears had been carved into his leathery skin, whatever was left of his hair was sure to turn white, his anger a cover for the writhing pain he felt. I know exactly how he feels.

 

They are trying to take my sister away from me and they won’t let me keep her. I’m trying to fight them, she doesn’t belong with them, she belongs with me. Why can’t they see that. They keep peeling my arms from around her body, trying to calm me down and telling me that everything is okay. But everything isn’t okay. How stupid do they think I am? They are beginning to lose their patience with me. My screaming in their faces isn’t doing anything but infuriating them. Why can’t they just leave me to mourn in peace.

 

Apparently, I need to let go because they need to take my sister to the morgue. I already know the cause of death, they do too, but apparently that’s not reason enough for them to leave her here with me. They found somebody to hold my arms while they carted her body in a slick black bag. She always hated the colour black. She preferred the colours of happiness, sunshine and the image of the future. Not black. Black was a symbol of emptiness, a feeling nobody should want.

 

I can’t move anymore. And I know I look just like everybody else around me, sobbing on the concrete outside the mess that used to be a playcentre, but I can’t see how anyone could feel the way I am right now. Empty and broken, angry and volatile, petrified and lonely. She was my whole world. I took her from my parents because they couldn’t support her, and now she died in my care. I killed my little sister.

 

You have stopped bringing kids out of the burning building, no one dares to enter back in, but there are still mourning parents begging to see their kids alive. Apparently, some kids will never make it out of that rubble because they are the rubble. In the heart of the centre, that’s where they say the bomb was. In the bag of a little kid, right in the place that would cause the worst pain imaginable.

 

I don’t know what it was about us, but you wrapped your arms firmly around me. You didn’t have to say anything, I knew what you meant. I know my words weren’t making any sense to you, they weren’t making any sense to me either. I couldn’t really focus on anything other than the mangled sobs exuding from every pore of my body, the ache in my jaw from screaming silently for hours on end, from the crumbling of my entire being. I couldn’t feel anything other than her.

 

Her dreams evaporating into nothing. Her laugh dying out until nothing could be heard but the explosion. There was nothing you could do to extinguish the pain that ran rampant through who I was. I know you tried, I could feel it in the warmth you were sharing, even though you couldn’t see anything but the mess of everyone’s lives.

 

The empty eyes of the kids who used to breathe the same air as us. The pieces of them lying amongst the concrete, glass, smoke and fire, it was like a record stuck on repeat. Slipping into your consciousness and imprinting on your eyelids for you to never forget. If it makes you feel any better, I won’t ever forget either. Not her, not you, not anyone that is standing here today. None of us will ever forget.

 

My darling little sister, I am sorry I put you in a situation that took your life. I am sorry I wasn’t there to hold you, and to lie to you by saying that everyone would be okay. Everyone and everything. I love you. I love you Sammy, please don’t hate me. I beg of you, please don’t hate me. I love you Sammy, and I miss you so much. Every day. Every hour. Every minute. I miss you.

Reviews

[Jes' Pi]

Sammy...a name that nobody will ever forget because everyone has their own "Sammy".
You showed me the 3 steps everyone unconsciously follows when something special and important disappears: sadness, anger, desperation, and acceptance.
It was a very powerful monologue about a girl that lost a piece of her existence, a piece of her heart. Her porcelain heart broke into minuscule fragments that her sister caught in her bloody arms while traveling to Heaven.

Wonderful.
100/100

[WillaDanvers]

Thank you so very much!!

[Serendipity Planet]

wow its like someone hit me deep inside , I didn't expect that and you are right the song bring tears to my eyes.

Beautiful

[WillaDanvers]

Thank you very much! :D

[Coyote Poetry]

Powerful and worthwhile story shared. You made the reader feel and understand the pain. Losing someone and feeling weak. The ending was real and so sad. Thank you my friend for sharing the amazing story.
Coyote

[WillaDanvers]

Thank you very much for your kind words! It means a lot! :)

[Coyote Poetry]

Was my pleasure and you are welcome my friend.

[ArtisticVisions]

Your words let me feel every emotion that too many people are feeling, and they showed a picture of both the outside and the inside.
I hope you never give up writing, not when you can write something as impacting as this.

[WillaDanvers]

Thank you so much!! ❤

[Hebe]

This piece of writing could move a stone to tears, I felt every word! Your description of loosing loved ones was stunning and heartfelt .... an outstanding and impressive insight to tragedy that has become almost common place on our planet sadly!

[Raichulover]

This is full of emotion and the setting is very clear. This may be the best peice of writing that I have ever read.