Forgot your password?

We just sent you an email, containing instructions for how to reset your password.

Sign in

  • I didn't notice the fires had grown dim. The sirens no longer pierced through the air. The music that forced the ground beneath me to quake had been silenced. The group of thugs up ahead had since cleared out.
    I dropped the battered antenna, breathing heavy. A few thugs continued to wander the streets, but they were different. There were no pierced ears, no shaved heads, and no scarred skin. The broken glass crunched beneath their shoes. I was no longer afraid of them.
    I followed the damaged streets, past the ransacked buildings, past the shattered streetlights. The people that were left in town, the ones too stubborn to leave, slowly emerged from hiding. "Do you know what time it is?" I asked one of them, an older woman.
    "Six, maybe." she quietly replied. The sun began to set as the tattered people wandered back to their homes, not knowing the when the siren will sound next. I managed to squeeze onto the nearest side street as people marched to and fro in every direction. To the people here this was just another day, and they accepted that as they rushed home as if nothing had happened.
    As I continued to walk the familiar path back home, I saw people beginning to piece their broken homes back together. Doors ripped from the hinges were affixed to their thresholds with care. Furniture pushed to the streets by the thugs was brought back inside, trash cans were un-flipped, and crushed glass was swept away.
    As I walked to the outskirts of town, I noticed light in one of the houses. Home, sweet home. I could finally get back, and start working on my own projects. I didn’t have to worry about anybody but myself. So many concerns just lifted away. As the streets started to turn dark, I could finally see more than I ever had.
    • Share

    Connected stories:

About

Collections let you gather your favorite stories into shareable groups.

To collect stories, please become a Citizen.

    Copy and paste this embed code into your web page:

    px wide
    px tall
    Send this story to a friend:
    Would you like to send another?

      To retell stories, please .

        Sprouting stories lets you respond with a story of your own — like telling stories ’round a campfire.

        To sprout stories, please .

            Better browser, please.

            To view Cowbird, please use the latest version of Chrome, Safari, Firefox, Opera, or Internet Explorer.