Sunday, 13 December 2015

Apocalypse


Black smoke spiralled high up the mountain. A ghastly silence meandered the valley. It was only the cracking of the fire and the occasional whooshing of the cold wind that disturbed the immutable silence burning the tanks along with the human flesh. The trees caught fire, the scrubs withered, the grass wailed as a body fell upon it and colored to black. Death and only death…
Far up a stark silhouette stood on the ridge against the blue- black sky. As the dawn broke, he descended down the mountain. The first rays of sun fell upon him separating the mist and flashing up his body. He was a general – by the look of his uniform. A Nazi general; probably a SA sent to scan the area and to kill any moving soul. He wore a grey jacket and a brown shirt underneath. A swastika armband was tied to his left arm, his ski-cap faced the front, wearing brown ankle boots he rode on a beautiful white horse.
The place was completely annihilated. First east then w
est and again east his eyes moved in search of anything that moves. But nothing. He couldn't see a thing till a mile or so as he passed through the million blazing tanks.
Death embraces the silence. Little had he known he accepted the death invitation by entering the land? His death was manoeuvring his movements.
A sharp, shiny, silver knife hit him between the two blue eyes. He fell off his horse and screamed and screamed in pain and agony. The horse neighed as his hooves clopped faster on hitting the ground. As he closed his eyes, a tear rolled down his cheek and a question arose on his mind, “What had the war brought him?” He was too young to die; he prayed health and wealth to his family and his two wonderful daughters. He isn't going to see them grow or get married. The pain finally took over him as his soul transcended beyond Earth.