Fragmented Night

By Henry Osler

I took my seat by the twisting river. The sand shifted below me, embracing me. The water marched forward like a soldier; steadily, it closed the gap between land and sea. The silence of the night was solemn and desolate.

The screech of the rocket grew intense, it flew into the gods’ domain, and detonated. The silent sky had disintegrated into shards of heavenly bodies and debris which pummeled the face of the Earth. Filled with millions of stars and an eerie cloud of smog.

Slowly, surely, the night ebbed back into full, like the waves that slowly enveloped me. The broken pane was now whole. The world that hangs above my head is now in one piece, and quiet.

James Whistler’s Nocturne in Black and Gold: The Falling Rocket