book-bomb

The air itself burned. All was ash and dust. The remains of his home, his friends, his loved ones, his comrades, his enemies, mixed and intermingled. One spec of ash indistinguishable from the next. He had fallen to his knees, among the aftermath of the ruin of his own making. He no longer knew how long it had been since he''''d fallen, how long he remained beyond everything else he ever knew. The ashes of his life coated his body, making him appear as a gray uneven statue, a monument to his own sorrow.