Bad things happen around me. I’ve known that since I was 10 years old. But I thought I could escape it, I found a place, so alive that I thought I could hide in between the people and the many lives around me. I loved walking around town, not speaking to anyone, just watching. I got noticed, people started talking to me and I made friends, not close but close enough to not be alone. I really thought I could try again, get another go at life… I was wrong.
But my luck caught up with me, the ground shook, first almost imperceptibly then more and more and I saw my city slowly fall apart before me… all the people I had met, those I had known and those I had gotten used to passing by. The colours and the lights came tumbling down in a shower of ephemeral beauty. The pillars were crumbling and I knew that no matter how hard I tried I would not be harmed. That’s just how it works. I get to see cities fall and people get crushed but I always come out unscathed. I saw the homeless guy I sometimes had sat with for words of wisdom, a pillar about to fall on him, and there were others. I closed my eyes as the city I loved fell to pieces around me and tried to block it out, imagine it still standing, trying to block out the screams of dying people and crashing towers. All I could feel were the tears streaming down my face, it was the only harm done, but it was enough. When I opened them again the rubble sat there accusingly, it was my fault, it always was.
So I closed my eyes again and tried to imagine what it had been again, so full of life. And I cried.