A familiar current of fear breezed through the air, spitting streams of sand and dirt into my eyes. I thought of the faceless knights who had incinerated the flesh of the men, women, and children that had once crowded these streets and I forced my gaze to the sky. With moist palms, I wiped my forehead with my shirtsleeve. My stomach felt knotted and nauseous as the sounds of construction in the distance lifted me off the sidewalk floor and pierced my chest. I knew what was about to happen. I was, after all, living in the same village as a wanted man and I could feel the warm breath of the gods, who rained unpredictable fire, right behind my back. My racing mind came to a halt, succumbing to the squeals of the children who ran barefoot across the murky cement street and were far to innocent to comprehend why their parents grieved. I saw lonely, old faces walk from building to building in a slow death march. I shook hands, exchanged compliments and petty information with the familiar faces that passed by. Down the metal staircase came my wife to greet the sun’s red and orange early morning color painting. Her dark eyelashes cast a shadow over her eyes as she turned to me and smiled. She approached me with her hand on the ever-growing ball of life that lay below her breasts. I turned towards her and softly swung my arms around her. The fear and paranoid fell beneath a new layer of security and warmth. I felt happy. I inhaled the scent of spring, closed my eyes and listened to the life I heard around me. Laughs, footsteps, the sound of the wind against the trees, and the sound of my wife’s breath right beside my left cheek. Then I heard it… the sound of metal tearing through the air. I am not sure if anyone realized what had happened. All I know is that as I turned away from my wife’s brown eyes, I was greeted by a wave of fire and heat. Thousands of miles away, a switch had been pulled and the eagle that sat on its high perch watched as all the small dots vanished.