A Spy in the Ruins. Christopher Bernard

of elimination.

      There is no telling where you are. You are everywhere you are nowhere. Always. Never. Now.

      As the flames began gathering in the city.

      It will not do not to admit they repelled and fascinated you their shadowy oily skin not black at all but many shades of brown the odors of their bodies their harsh dry hair their big-mouthed laughter their anger their unrelenting poverty. They disgusted frightened mocked you challenged the doctrine of kindness in you. Of truth and kindness gazing with suspicion at each other within you. Dared you to look them in the face. Beyond the sentimentalism of the victim. After the last blackmail has been paid. Their misery everywhere like an oil that slicked the shafts. The hopelessness and filth of the neighborhoods where they lived. That went to the horizon on moorlands of homes in ruins strafed from the skies interrupted demolition. The constant fear walking their streets fear of them the fear from them. The blank tired druggy look bloodshot gaping scattering shriek murderous following stare. Angry laughter from knots of kids resentful laugh vicious little sharp laugh of lying victory scornful flamboyant theatrical laugh laugh to show one is not crying not beaten or crushed crushed beaten weeping laugh. The tone gave the city the richly gray sheen of misery frustration and shame. It infiltrated the curtains soured the clothes hanging in the closet. Sour bitter filth like the stench from rotting wharves.