LISTEN TO ARTICLESynthesized Narration • 0:00 / 0:00

The city woke with morning grace, a bus horn sang beneath my space. I sighed and stretched, then close my eyes— just traffic humming lullabies. The sky cracked open, sharp and wide, a missile’s scream we could not hide. I flinched and prayed with every sound, no lullabies beneath this ground. My toast dripped gold with honey’s kiss, my cereal swirled in morning bliss. The eggs too soft, I barely tried, then pushed the plate and said, “I’m fine” I licked my lips, though nothing’s there— no grain, no bread, not even air. My blood had kissed my tongue again, rusty where the wounds remain. I wore my shoes, still clean and white, walked past the trees that caught the light. The breeze was soft, the sky felt kind. No trace of war, no weight on mind. I walked through shards and twisted steel, my feet forgot how safe they should feel. The wind here smells of dust and stone. We breathe in smoke, we walk alone. My cherry juice spilled on my shirt, a harmless splash, no sign of hurt. We laughed and left our plates behind, not once aware of those confined. I wish my stains were sweet and red, not blood from cuts that never bled. No drink to spill, no tray, no crust. We lick our lips and taste the dust. I saw a post—some war abroad. A child in ash, his face was odd. I clicked away, it felt too grim. Then scrolled until the light grew dim. I am that post, that face you fear, that child you scroll and won’t draw near. While you forget with just a swipe, I cry in ways the world scrolls past.