The village slept quietly in the morning dew. It lay unconscious and unaware of the attack they were going to be confronted with. Ling strolled past the school yard. Nursery rhymes and silly squabbling interrupted the morning peace. The alarm vigorously pounded, piercing through the damp air, dominantly arguing with the surrounding panic. Ling squinted at the coastal sky and spotted black flecks. He felt a deathly vibration rattling his bones. He immediately realised the situation. He turned back at the school yard. The children had already fled to their assigned destinations and had left behind their skipping ropes on the floor along with their hope of survival.
As they drew closer, sparkling explosives cannoned out from the helicopters and plunged into the surrounding water of the village, creating eruptions of water particle bombs. They injected explosives into the rural landscape and tore apart trees from the ground, huts from the beaches and and souls from bodies. Ling watched in terror while assembling a machine gun as helicopters raged overhead. Ling begins to frantically fire bullets at the aerial predators, attempting to put a stop to explosions and consecutive bullets fired, civilians dying, one by one.
Devouring and engulfing, the cats pranced on the mice. A passionate storm of rage raced through Ling’s nerves and stood him up. A bullet, a single bullet that seemed to echo through the racket, was shot and aimed and hit Ling. He fell to the ground, his brittle body unnoticed by all…
Photo by Phan Dang Viet Tung from Pexels
Confictionarium 