The sirens are blaring. They cut through the night and hit as if you were their only target. It would be painful if it wasn’t terrifying. The sound ripping through the air. Jolting you from sleep as it gets louder. Louder. LOUDER. Then fading off only to come back to torture you again.
Sometimes it stops. When the threat is gone and people can go back to their normal lives as if they hadn’t been shaken to their knees.
Sometimes its only a warning. A drill. A cruel joke being played on everyone to ensure they know what to do when their lives are in real danger. The drills are only ever set during the day though, in the light hours. If the siren goes off when the sky is dark the scramble to survive sets in.
The sirens are sounding, still. You can hear the commotion in the streets. The screaming and yelling.
“Move! Now!”
“Go! We have to go!”
“Leave it! Shoes, clothes, bags on your back and move!”
Children screaming. Crying for a fear that they don’t know. Parents heart’s racing for one they know too well.
The sirens continue without pause. A streak of light screams through the air and everything stops. Everything moves in slow motion as the flaming ball of light disappears behind the hills. It’s followed by a rumble. The ground is shaking. The hills are on fire and the night sky is melting.
The sirens keep blaring. This is not a drill. They are coming.
A Hopeless Romantic, Stirred 