The smoke hovered above the city,
Like an endless blanket of darkness.
Everything lied in perfect silence,
Apart from the distant crackling of far away fires.
But the thing that overwhelmed your thoughts, your mind,
Was the stench of Death, and his victory over the city.
The streets were not at all empty.
They were filled with debris and remnants of what had transpired.
Crashed cars laid strewn about, dormant, inactive.
Their owners' attempts to flee from the onslaught: failed.
A child's ball rolled silently down the avenue, and under a pile of wreckage,
Like a perfect symbol for everything lost.
However, you could not help but notice that something was out of place:
Where were the citizens of the city?
Where were their bodies? Their remains?
Had they all escaped before the chaos?
No. They had become one with their assailants,
Or devoured.
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