Void? - "Aura."

Hi, Void.

"Hi, Aura."

I watched it fall.

Not in slow motion,

no poetic mercy like that.

Just a blink,

a whistling,

a scream that split the sky open.

"I know.

You were close enough to see,

but too far to stop it."

I was holding a bag of stale bread.

Old.

Hard.

But we were going to eat it together.

Laugh about how mum would soak it in tea,

to soften it, to make it more warm,

how my brother would pretend it was cake.

Just enough to pretend it was a meal.

"That bag was hope, wasn’t it?"

Yes.

Small, dry, pitiful hope -

but it meant something.

It meant I was still their sibling,

still the middle child,

still included.

Still going home.

"And then the sky betrayed you."

It was a U.S Spice 2000.

I will never forget the name.

900 kilograms, full of precision, they said.

Green, with a yellow band -

how neat, how clean.

As if color-coded death is easier to digest.

"To them missiles had a name."

But us? No no Void.. huh.. we didn’t.

Seen as nameless.

Seen as just another number.

Another in the books.

"A statistic. A number.

Not even a soul. A human"

It tore through my home,

with no face and no mercy.

It didn’t knock.

Didn’t ask.

It just took.

"That’s what war does, Aura.

It doesn’t care who’s underneath."

It fell, Void.

That green thing.

Yellow band like a warning

I couldn’t read in time.

It didn’t roar -

it thudded the air.

And the world

tore in two.

"And so did you."

I dropped the bread.

I remember that.

It hit the ground with a dull sound,

so human in its finality.

Not fire, not blood.

Just stale bread

on dusty stones.

"It was all that was left untouched."

I ran.

I don’t remember running.

Just the red,

and the noise,

and then the absence of noise.

The total stillness.

The sound of the tiniest particle moving.

That unbearable stillness

where homes used to breathe.

"They were still warm, weren’t they?"

Yes.

Still warm.

Still burning underneath my feet.

Still soft metal, concrete.

Still. Silent.

Like if I screamed loud enough,

they’d wake up.

But they didn’t.

And my niece’s shoe,

just one,

was what i managed to pull.

"Some details never leave you."

I knelt there,

Void,

in a house that didn’t exist anymore.

I called their names

until my throat bled. Still is.

Until the silence turned solid

and wrapped around my lungs.

"And you lived."

Why?

Why does a person live

through that?

What kind of cruelty makes one

carry bread, makes one left behind,

instead of burning?

"Because someone had to remember.

And you did."

They used to call us chaos.

Five voices in one hallway,

never quiet, never still.

"I remember. You were the storm’s heart."

Being the middle meant

I was always watching.

Not oldest enough to be obeyed,

not youngest enough to be protected.

Just… there.

"You were their witness.

And that is sacred."

But who witnesses me now?

Who remembers me?

Who do I belong to?

when I’m the only one left to say their names?

"You. And me."

My little brother used to put sugar in salt jars

just to watch us spit and scream.

And laugh. That laugh,

it could split grief in half.

"Now it splits you instead."

My baby sister still had milk teeth.

She said I was her favorite

because I didn’t talk down to her.

Now no one talks at all.

"Your silence honors her better

than words ever could."

My niece.

Two and a half years old.

Pigtails, rosey cheeks,

laugh like wind chimes.

She still had her thumb in her mouth.

Asleep. Angel. Little bird.

"Some things shouldn’t be real.

But they are."

And my mum..

oh, Void,

she used to hum while cooking.

Always warm,

always worried.

I wonder if she reached for us

before the fire did.

"I hope she did.

I hope her last breath

was filled with your names."

Why do they call it a smart missile, Void?

What’s smart about turning laughter

into ash and bone?

What’s smart about erasing

an entire bloodline in one breath?

"It’s not smart.

It’s just cruelty. Dehumanization."

Do you think the missile knew?

When it locked on?

When it fell from the sky like judgment?

Do you think it saw the tea on the table,

the shoes by the door?

"It saw only coordinates, Aura.

Not the stories living there.

It only saw death, and went with it. It knew."

I want them to know.

I want them to feel

what it means to lose a future

in a single detonation.

To sit in the rubble,

searching for fingers,

for dolls,

for shoes.

"For names.

For pieces of a life

they’ll never understand."

No, Void. They will never understand.

No one ever will understand.

The cruelty this world holds.

Never.

Aura 🍉

Day : Another day,

Time and Date: Doesn't matter.