AwkwardPhoenix

The city I had once lived in was gone; the place I had flown through each day was now a pile of rubble. Memories flashed through my mind; I remembered the window that none dared to perch on, in fear that the wrinkled man would throw a cigarette and burn through our feathers. The television antenna that was shaped perfectly to fit many of us on at once, where stories of the old times were shared, when the forests were green and short. All of that was gone; the people, my friends, and my home. The Sun had only risen once since the city fell. My memories of that day are still clear, and played out in my mind as the grieving city looked up from

I heard another crash above my head, and I clutched my brother's sleeve tighter. My father was yelling; his voice thundering in my ears. My brother said something back, his voice showing no sign of fear. Father swayed, looking like he was on a boat in rough seas. My brother leant down and whispered in my ear. He told me to get away from the house. I didn't want to leave him, but Father was picking up another glass, so I bolted. I ran until the air in my lungs felt like sandpaper each time I took a breath. The sun blinded me when it rose above the red roofs of the houses of Whitby. I could smell the sea. I must have been close to the port. I