Clare Wu (9) | STAFF REPORTER
A girl stands, alone and lost, looking down at the world beneath her feet, slowly crumbling away. Up here, with the harsh sound of the howling wind and the biting chill of the air, she can barely hear the sounds of death that emit from the destruction below, the clash of metal against bone, the pained screams of the damned. Amid the chaos, she sees the children, young and so out of place, with wide eyes and trembling hands, searching desperately for some kind of reprieve.
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She watches until it’s all gone. Until the pointless massacre stops, until the buildings topple and the ground turns scarlet. Goodbye, she whispers to the empty air and the ghosts she left behind and turns away from her world for the final time. Golden tears, shimmering and precious, fall over the bloodstained earth as she flies with feathered wings, white as snow and twice as soft, brushing past the crumbling towers, one last reminder of the broken world she
destroyed.
