in my dream there is rubble everywhere and only the skeletons of buildings still standing. there are mothers wailing as their children dig through the rubble. with them I pull through torn tents stained red. the air is thick and heavy. somebody finds the shoe of someone they knew or loved. a voice over the speaker booms through the shell of the city that was. I follow the crowds that move at this prompt. I don’t understand what was said. we gather around a large tear of fabric, and I know that underneath are the remains of the children they’ve found. parents fall to their knees and look to the heavens for something. an answer maybe? I’m not quite sure. I turn to throw up and wake up instead.
I check my phone and try to think of what I want for dinner. at the rally a pink haired redneck assaults the man with the flag up ahead of me. the organiser in high vis tells the perpetrator it’s a peaceful protest. ‘no it’s not!’ he shouts as he storms away from the cops.
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