Surviving the war

I felt the newspaper screaming to my eyes, ‘The world’s at war. You either walk yourself to the grave, or they bring the grave to you.’

The sun knocks over your lids and the wind embraces your flesh, you stretch away the dream and get up to the battles roaring in the streets. As the first sip of morning coffee kisses your mouth, the first words on the newspaper grasp your soul and you wonder if you’d wake up tomorrow to your own obituary gilded in flowery words whilst you were left to die in the bed of thorns.

The phone screen wakes up to a message from your mom asking you to be safe, and you smile to yourself while the mask hides your quivering lips. You ensure the speed dial list on your phone and lock the door bidding a silent, unsure goodbye to your home.

People often walk on streets looking down to avoid stepping on something unwanted, while your eyes wander over every shadow that stays beside yours for long. People sit in their cabs and enjoy the view through the windows, capturing the tinted clouds in their cameras, whilst you keep checking the maps throughout the journey, looking out the same window begging the sun to stay a little longer.

As the sun drowns into the sea, your heart sinks into a pool of fear, deeper than any ocean they show on Discovery, only you never switched from the news channel. You keep pulling your sweater down, and keep your gaze on the streetlights gleaming with bleak rays of hope.

And you open the door to your home, breathing a sigh of relief, texting your mom, this day again you managed to be safe and alive. And you wake up next morning to another sip of the morning news that burns your tongue, looking at the replies complimenting your smile on today’s Instagram story with deep, saddened eyes.

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