Many were killed in the explosions that rocked London that night. But in truth really it would be only a small percentage of the population. What were the odds it would be you?
Pushing the wallet back into his pocket Shields began jogging up the steps to their home. Arriving at the front door the building exploded in front of him as the Donnier had roared overhead! Flash!! He was hit by debris with the force of an oncoming truck! He was propelled backward by the concussion slamming his head on the street and skidding across the road until he came to rest, buttressing up against a stone masonry wall.
Dazed he lay among the debris and the embers. Numb from head to toe he could not move, nor did he wish to. Soon he became aware of the lack of breathable air. He had to fight to breath and choked when he managed. He was lying in the mud and snow. He couldn't see but he could feel the wet and coldness of it. Squinting through the slits of his eyes he viewed the smoking swirling hays about him. Smoke burning his eyes, he was forced to close them again and turn his head away escaping back into himself.
He thought nothing, and spoke nothing. Being nearly senseless, all he knew was that he was cold, he couldn't see, and it was hard to breathe. There was a ringing in his ears that seemed like the change of frequency on the wireless. He began to distinguish screams and distant voices shouting. The world swirled around him in awkward equilibrium....
The combination of shock and a stiff December wind caused him to chill, dragging him back into consciousness. He awoke finding himself part of the debris of war, in the ruin that was now his life. Opening his eyes momentarily he found it difficult to distinguish images through the haze of dust and smoke that engulfed him. He grasped the dead hand of his love, still wearing the ring he had given her that day. Soon he could hear voices with English accents nearby, strangely echoed as if in a barrel.
"Sir… are you all right? Are you all right sir?" he heard someone ask.
He could not answer. He didn't know the answer. He was afraid of the answer. He wasn't even sure they were talking to him. He lay silently shivering in the wreckage of his dreams, bathed in the glow of many small fires which threatened to consume even the remains. It was too dangerous to stay there any longer as some of the fires were gaining strength at the far end of the building. He didn't care. He glanced at her lifeless body. There was nothing left that mattered now. He became transfixed on a small flame burning not far away. Black smoke curled above the flame in graceful motion as it rose above him, and like the hopes he once held, it simply drifted away on it's journey into the evening sky.