by William Morgan


The sky’s so clear, so blue,so…beautiful. I am soaring towards it, like a majestic bird.

The sun is bright,but, for some reason I cannot shield my eyes. Is this but a dream?

Then, I turn ,and descend. The wind whips my face as the descent becomes faster.

I see a street below me. Many vehicles with flashing lights. Black smoke, rubble.

A memory flits through. A man strapped with explosives. A flash. Screams. Pain.

I silently scream in terror,for as I get closer,  I see my body laying amongst the rubble.


About Russ Thompson

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