War Torn

Because that was the only word that could describe her world right now.

The town that once ebbed with color and life was now cloaked in a black-and-white stupor that even old movies could get past. The patter of children’s feet through the yellow cobbled paths was now replaced by an almost deafening silence, an irreplaceable stretch of emptiness, of void space.

It hadn’t always been like this. She remembered, very distinctly, of a time when things had been different- when colors were bright and the wind wasn’t cold, harsh and painful. And food. How she longed for the hot, steamy smell of cooked rice mixed with every delicious, spicy vegetable conceivable. That was miles apart from the cold rawness that entered her mouth and settled at the bottom of her stomach every day.

But cooking was not an option, for electricity was a thing of the past. If they were lucky, a few candles would be passed around town, providing momentary light, conquering the darkness for barely a few hours. At other times, the only thing they could see by was the light of each other’s eyes. And occasionally, the helicopter searchlights. For they would come, dutifully, once a week. No one knew why, but she did.

They wanted to make sure that the town wasn’t changing, that it was as dead as ever.