Pomegranates

The shelling started at 3:00am, and with it the dogs. A cacophony of howling and thunder. Yet, it wasn't so much the sky opening as it was the earth. Hungry, insistent, devouring . It's intestines overflowing with the indigestion of the city; belching tar, blood, and industrial waste. Tricycles fell from crumbling balconies as city parks erupted in ash. There was nothing to do but wait.

The dogs quieted as the earth closed in step with the rising of the sun. Men, mostly, emerged from the dust, some carrying rifles. The women soon followed and it began: the search for the living, the burial of the dead.

From the east a cow bell started to jingle, a happy tune. Children peered from doorways in their pyjamas before stepping into the street. They lined up in bare feet and waited, small smiles widening. His cart appeared in the midst of so much grey. Scarlet pomegranates glistening, waiting to leak their juices.