It is quiet. Very quiet. No guns. No screaming. The horizon is dotted with piles of rusting metal. Razors wire rolls over the plain like tumbleweeds. You could call it a peaceful day, but peaceful would imply people actively engaging in a lack of hostilities, which isn’t the case. There is peace because there aren’t any people left to raise a ruckus. The last two are over there, yup the two skeletons with their hands around each other’s throats. I guess if everyone is gone the word peace like all the other words wouldn’t mean much to the circling birds.
an much to the circling birds.