Meager are the certainties to which one clings in peril. To the wish that one’s head would lay once more, as the evening just before, with the carefree smile and empty thoughts of all which certainly will be.
Come the blackness and the fear, as the dawn brings shadows long. And gaze upon the hopeless faces of those faced for the first with a day which offers chaos to the world which they had known.
See the scramble as they go, with horrid fear and glanced suspicion, and the certainty their panic will compensate for little foresight. Scurry along as rats they do, seeking passage off a sinking ship, clinging to old familiar certainties of a world in disrepair.
How glorious the sight of shallow thoughts and clueless homes, when come the next day of salvation or despair. Dismissed and forgotten in an instant, as a fluke to never repeat. As a story of a warning to a child of misty woods.
But despair has patience and acts as sharp as a razor in the night. Delivering blows both horrible and without remedy where it would please.
And come the night where all is dark and familiar flames extinguished, there will be laid bare before them, the horror behind the world.
A prompt response.