It was barely past seven The first rays of sunlight pushing against the grey peering shyly through our curtainless windows A loud thump. I sat up on my bed —I’m not a light sleeper Was it just a terrible dream? Thought I had said my prayers. Groggily, I gathered myself three-quarter asleep I pried the windows open and staggered to the balcony Two dead bodies on the ground wrinkled, stodgy, helpless Two who had otherwise been in the pink of health They had always stood proudly for as long as I could remember Their lives inextricably intertwined above and below earth for what must have been decades, if not close to a century I rubbed my sleepy eyes and spotted more dead bodies Old and young Crinkled and smooth Stout and skinny Brown, grey and pink Wise and foolish Hoisted up in the sky the murderers cheering ruthlessly in their alarmingly bright uniforms on their alarmingly bright machines Remorseless There for the world to see.
