Sunday, July 12, 2015


A writing exercise on the theme of silence


The air is calm today. Smoke is long gone, soot and dust long settled. No sirens, no whistles or honking horns. No chatter in thirty languages or happy laughter or trucks unloading or bus brakes squealing.  Across the plaza, no one sits in the sun next to the torched tree stumps. Skyscrapers have crumbled as much as they ever will, the twisted I-beams and concrete clumps ten thousand monuments waiting for someone to remember. They will make perfect homes for any rats immune to radiation, but there may be no tenants for a thousand years. Stop signs blackened, but nothing to stop. Nothing moves in Manhattan.

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