sight
ash drifts down like confetti at a party that’s already soured—families, sailors, shearers, standing under the sky’s temper tantrum, streaks cutting through the darkness like fresh bruises. the full moon watches quietly, the only sober one here, unimpressed by the flash already starting to fade. the trees don’t move, holding their breath. the birds started flying crooked, lost in the mess left behind.
smell
the air is thick with the sharp tang of kerosene, a desperate splurge on a 10-minute spectacle. the damp, earthy scent of life is smothered beneath it, leaving only the fading perfume of burnt excitement. flowers bend, their bloom is already wilting, and it feels like they’ve read the script and know how this ends.
sound
dogs bark into the night like they’re chasing down a forgotten debt, a racket that echoes regret. the crowd’s laughter is hollow, ringing out even though there’s nothing left to laugh at. birds chirp in broken rhythm, their songs twisted and scattered, lost in the ash-filled air.
taste
the dust settles on your lips, bitter and metallic, the flavour of something that’s already slipped away. it’s like biting into disappointment, gritty and dry, the kind that sticks. even the trees seem to taste it, their leaves twitching, helpless under the fallout.
touch
the ash sticks to everything, clinging like a bad memory, rough and unshakable, settling on skin, clothes, and branches. the grass beneath your feet is coarse, no longer soft as if the ground itself is weighed down by this spectacle gone wrong, trapped beneath the burden of what’s been spent and wasted.
sixth sense
there’s something you can’t quite name. a ripple under the surface. the world holds its breath but not in fear—in tiredness, in knowing. it’s an exhaustion that sinks deeper than the ash or the smoke. it hums low, a quiet understanding that this mess won’t ever be cleaned, that every flare-up leaves a scar. the moon watches, but it’s the earth that feels it, that weight, that heavy stillness as if the night itself is bracing for what comes next.