The City of Ashes | Teen Ink

The City of Ashes

April 11, 2021
By mossywall GOLD, Newton, Massachusetts
mossywall GOLD, Newton, Massachusetts
10 articles 10 photos 7 comments

Favorite Quote:
"I believe every human has a finite number of heartbeats. I don't intend to waste any of mine." - Neil Armstrong


She walks through the ashes, her fingers drifting like lost leaves in the wind.  How, she wonders, could the city have fallen?  How could its beautiful towers topple and smash to the ground like felled trees?  How could a boy, not a foreign, angry, army, but a single boy, wreak such chaos and destruction?  She threads her way through debris and broken buildings like a visitor might thread their way through gravestones, looking for the resting place of a love one.  Her finger twirls along a broken stone wall, dusting with exhaustion and sorrow.  She stops, her fragile bones trembling weakly in the sadness that plagues her like a disease.  Her raven black hair shifts and catches the ashes that flutter in the air as she kneels in the center of the city.  Her paper-thin skin presses into heaving, pain-wracked dust, her fingers dig and scratch though the charred until she find the scorched aching earth beneath.  She doesn’t cry.  She can’t.  Not anymore.  Her pain cuts too deep to be expressed in salt water.  She doesn’t know how many days or weeks have passed.  Her mind no longer fathoms time, only loss.  Her head bows, and her hair falls around her pale face as if trying to shield her from the pained, broken whispers of buildings that surround her, as though it can protect her from being consumed by the angry ghost of what was once the greatest city in the world.


The author's comments:

This piece is about pain and ghosts.


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This article has 1 comment.


on Aug. 29 2021 at 5:45 am
DesdemoniaDee BRONZE, Wördern, Other
2 articles 0 photos 18 comments

Favorite Quote:
“All good books are alike in that they are truer than if they had really happened and after you are finished reading one you will feel that all that happened to you and afterwards it all belongs to you: the good and the bad, the ecstasy, the remorse and sorrow, the people and the places and how the weather was. If you can get so that you can give that to people, then you are a writer.”
― Ernest Hemingway

Hello! I found this piece of fiction short but beautiful. I do not think it would have had that impact if it were longer. I liked the discriptions and metaphors used in the text. Nice piece.