There, in the middle of the blackout, standing in the lonely and foggy pastures behind the mysterious shack, he could see the skyline. The dark skyline he wasn’t able to understand.
He could see ships, roses and planes. He could see lighthouses working as sentinels and low waves containing high-rise buildings.
The vultures transforming into doves. The fog into a mixture of honey and coffee and darkness into bright headlights.
Stars appeared in a blue sky and the sun lighted up a dark night. The dark skyline transformed in a light pond and mountains arose.
He could see deer standing in front of the headlights and flickering lamps. Crickets turned into violins and thunderheads into thunderstruck.
Fireflies stormed in, creating endless harmony and wild cries transformed into bird trills.
Once again he could smell flower fields and hear children’s joyful laughter.
A blackout stalking his mind in the middle of the foggy night. He returned to his awful thoughts, making happiness seem suffering. Fog in his memories, blurring his mind. He opened them again just to realize the gray environment he was in. One day, dark the night, dark the shack, dark the fire, dark the vultures surrounding the skies. The coldness of the night made him shiver and his fear return. He could still see the smoke downtown and hear the explosions.
A blackout again. He shut his eyes closed and returned to his hideout: right there, in his foggy and lonely pastures. All he did was record again the moments without that thundering, foggy and destructive shadow that people dare to call war.