Missing Poster

You look up and down a street illuminated by flames and suffocated by pain, you take a deep breathe before stepping into a community broken by sirens and screams of realisation.

You twist and turn your way amongst people, running in all directions but not going anywhere. You’re not like them; whichever direction you go- except back – will lead you to a better place.

For all your bravado you scan faces searching for him. Scared you will spot him. Or him you. You know he’s out there somewhere, using the disaster to relieve whoever he can of their valuables.

Once he’s done, like a cat bringing its owner a dead mouse, he’ll present you his haul expecting to be praised. This time they’ll be no praise. So, he’ll curse you but you won’t be there to care.

You climb onto the bus that will take you far from him, and curse when you spot him watching you. But It’s not him. It’s a face on a Missing Poster. They’ll be more of those soon; people looking for loved ones lost in the tragedy. Yours won’t be amongst them. It’ll take him a couple of days to realise you’re not coming back. When he does he won’t think you dead or dying. He wouldn’t care if you were. No, he’ll break things, smash the place up, get drunk and go out to find your replacement. Anyone will do. As long as they are as naive and gullible as you once were.