The sirens rise in pitch, echoing across the expanse of the scarlet sky. A warning come too late. Doom is here and it rolls in on a churning thunderhead, bulging with membranes of lightning that burn momentary shadows into the hapless world below. The howling gale batters windows and rattles walls. A tireless inferno traces out the horizon in a blistering division of heaven and earth. Sucking oxygen from the teeth of the planet, this engine of force suffers no shortage of fuel. It has no cause to deviate. It is as certain as the tides of the moon. Death without recourse.
Yet still, I see my neighbour calmly stride from his home, dragging one green and one black bin behind him.
I scream from the windows, ‘What are you doing?!’
He looks up, confused. Hair whipping in the wind. Face flickering with the spit of lightning. ‘Isn’t it bin day tomorrow?’ he says.
Paddy Dobson
11th September 2020