My love.
He's running towards me, as fast as is possible among the broken and rubble-covered streets. Streetlights lie mangled and twisted on the ground. He ducks beneath an uprooted tree, then vaults over the bumper of a car. I'm yelling his name, screaming it. My throat contracts and I gasp for air. My eyes are dry- for the first time in days, I have run out of tears. I am certainly not my mother.
My heart pounds- or is it my brother's? Either way, I can hear something pounding out a steady rhythm, pushing blood through my veins, reminding me that, for now, I am alive. As is he. But he and I both know that we will feel more alive when he is back at my side, his hand in mine. I cry out again, and my brother's hand finds mine.
He is not so far away now. Maybe one hundred metres, certainly no great distance for such a runner as himself. He looks up, and his eyes meet mine. Dark grey, the same shade as my mother's. Behind him, I see the hovercraft rise, bearing the distinct markings of a warship.
Silence.
The world comes to a complete standstill. My arm reaches out to him, my lips open in a silent scream. My brother, golden hair flashing in the light of the bombs, tugs at my arm, pulling me towards safety. He screams something, but I hear nothing. I see nothing, nothing but him.
For a moment, the world is illuminated, and he disappears into the brilliant white.
Then it is dark, and my screams shatter the mirrors of the world.
