B

Head down he strolled down the street observing only the scattered cracks on the pavement. He could not glance up. He could not see it. One glance would be all it would take. Once glance up and he would see what he had done; the destruction he had caused. One man, one day and all of this damage. Lives in ruin, people looking up to the sky in despair, praying for something, some sort of mercy. He could not bare it, he could not bare to see any of it. Heat began to enter his sences, warming his left arm, and soon after burning, bright orange embers slashed across his vision of the tarnished pavement.

He knew he would have to look up eventually. And the sudden growing breeze was giving him the motivation needed to do so. The embers being blown towards him were crashing against his bare arms and legs creating a perpetual stinging sensation. The breeze had developed into a gust, flailing fractions of newspapers around him. Walking was becoming harder and along with the confused weather came confused thoughts.

He looked up. The buildings crumbling around him, crashing to the ground, but he could not hear it; there was silence. Wailing mothers crying at the loss of their children. Death was ignored. The roads littered with bodies. The bodies of good people. He had reached the bridge now. It was over. There was peace, finally.