2011

Burning Britain.

It starts with a meaningless flicker,

and ends with a meaningless future.

 

 

Seconds pass by.

A single flame breaks out.

 

The ticking of the clock has begun.

Within a blink of an eye, flames start ripping through dreams that were built on ideals.

 

Individuals become people. People become hordes. Standing pointlessly watching the reality of a common future unfold.

 

Heart wrenching sounds of falling walls and shattering memories encased behind glass, echo across Britain’s failed land.

 

This is not a question of faith, reason, or beliefs.

This is not a question at all.

 

 

Minutes pass by.

A single dwelling has been consumed.

 

Air begins to carry the smell of a burning life.

It hits the back of your throat.

You collapse to your knees breathless, as if a hand were clasped tightly around your throat.

 

Hot embers jump up from the ground and singe bare skin.

The instant pinch of pain is an indication that you are still alive.

 

 

Hours pass by.

A single country is left suspended.

 

The ticking of the clock has stopped with a deafening silence.

 

The weight of darkness overwhelms the once familiar surroundings.

 

Blood, sweat, and tears drip to the ground leaving a shallow imprint for barely a second, before being buried with ash.

 

Streets become rivers, reflecting the torment, washing away the heat and the fire. Veins in the land have opened, but there is only dust to flow through them.

 

What is there left to fight for in this pulverised country?

 

Is this our meaningless future?

This is after all our Burning Britain.