Brent Gough

Time and Time Again

The sky was an orange haze dotted with long black clouds and he could see the buildings of the city silhouetted in stark blackness against the burnt horizon. Fires raging everywhere, he thought, a whole city blazing. Out here in the suburbs the smell of smoke loomed in the air, it crept down the street touching everything as it went, leaving its oily black print on the quiet abandoned houses. The homes had not yet been touched by the creeping fires so despite the derelict nature of the streets and the ever-present soot, one could almost imagine it was just a quiet Sunday in the neighborhood. Lyle knew better though. No-one would ever live here again, no children playing outside, no weekend barbecues, nothing. This town was dead now. Like the rest of the country. Maybe even the world for all he knew. He sat in the wicker rocking chair and sipped, a healthy pour from a bottle of old whiskey he had found in the cupboard of whoever’s home he now took temporary residence in. He drank and watched the city burn in the distance.