Fallen deities calm open water with whispers.
Angelic helpers bring fire in zinc buckets.
The flames douse the water and flare up.
Schools of fish swim away into the fiery deep.
Human bodies float their way ashore in the murk.
They are picked up by the crow and the raven, scavenging.
Their families wail with grief on the stricken shore.
The island teems with life that doesn't belong there.
Crystals glow in their black and green eye sockets.
Sleepless children rub their faces and come close.
They are held back by nervous guardians and fear.
Still the fire scorches their faces, fusing their eyes shut.
Sirens wail and lights flash in harsh unison.
More bodies are pulled from the wreckage, broken.
They are winged and clawed, not human.
They breathe in the sharp air, against all the odds.
Wings beat and wave in the air as fears expand.
The twisted frames still burn like a dying star in the midnight.
The children cower as their parents see through camera phones.
Snapshots fall to the ground, unnoticed by them.
Sparks begin to leap into the air, akin to dragonflies.
The fallen gods retreat, taking the angels with them.
The fire burns on in the darkness of the town.
The town that has stopped moving through time.
The town where nothing changes or gets older at all.
A town in stasis.
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