Rubble

Emerging from the tube station, I fiddled with my gas mask ensuring it was fixated properly. No one could take any chances but the constant feeling of suffocation recently has been unbearable. The underground air was already musty, to be crammed down there with so many people only to have to put on the god-awful mask. It was like I was being choked. The sound of sirens though no longer there still rang in my ears, nothing could have had prepared me for the sight my home.
If I could even call it home, rubble decorated the streets, buildings having had crumbled now lay on the floor, all covered by a thick blanket of dust and soot. Orange glows beamed through the thick sheet, dancing and flickering, cackling, laughing at us all.
I wasn’t quite sure of what to do or how to feel, my body was frozen in place and tears didn’t dare to run down my face. But there was a pain, and aching in my heart for my home, for the lives of those trapped underneath what used to be London. And ached even more so for those that screamed, yearning for someone to find them.