The lights below shine bright on the horizon.
The roar of the engines blot out any noise that might linger in the air around,
While simultaneously impeding the doubt creeping up the back of my mind.
My payload is said to be the ultimate weapon of peace.
The quickest resolution to the bloody conflict engulfing our planet...
Is there such a thing as a weapon of peace?
The answer seems so simple, but after everything I’ve seen I’m not so sure.
The lights ahead are nearly below us.
There’s no more time to think.
I flip the switch and the bay doors slowly open.
The ambient roar: silent as I wait for impact.
The darkness is immediately eviscerated; a plume of flame taller than the highest tower erupts from below.
The once harmonious lights: replaced by a mortal gateway to hell.
Nothing is left but time to think, to think about what happened, to think about what I’ve done.
The answer that seemed so simple is now the only thought in my mind,
and after everything I’ve seen.
Falling, silently, covertly speeding towards my destiny.
The only reason I exist, my one goal in this miserable existence.
Since my birth I have known only the darkness of a strange cruel form of imprisonment referred to as “storage”, seldom catching glimpses of the light.
Now, I am free.
The world around a painful gloom, save for one glimmering beacon calling for me.
The light that has eluded me my entire being, takes now my entire focus.
I move faster the closer I get, as if it were some massive star beckoning on I, a lonely Asteroid, with its mighty gravitational force.
Soon I am moving with such velocity my body slices the air in front of it into a sharp whistle, proclaiming my pilgrimage.
My elation grows with every moment as I float through the last few seconds of my Journey.
The glorious light now engulfs my field of vision.
My only thought: I am free.
The City was sleeping, secure in the belief that the war was not in its streets.
There was no warning.
The lucky ones were disintegrated before they awoke, instantly voyaging to the Afterlife.
Others were not so fortunate.
They only knew something was wrong when all the windows shattered and they stumbled disoriented out of bed, blood dripping from the tattered remains of their eardrums.
Others were ripped out of bed by the immense shockwave, scorched by the blistering heat of an enemy they had never met.
Sixty-Thousand of us escaped with our lives only to die from wounds days later.
Generations of deformed infants serve a cruel reminder to never forget what happened.
They say it was in the name of peace.
I am speechless.
You called us survivors, not knowing all of us died the moment the bomb unleashed unbridled Chaos.