There it was. Dawn.

She's made it.

The dew droplets kiss her feet. A breeze

runs through her hair.

And the birds!

The birds are singing

a song, just for her.

Sweetest sound she's

ever head.

She wonders if it'll be

enough. Enough to make

her forget the symphonies

she heard, day in, day out,

for five long years.

The wailing of alarms, drone

of planes, and bang of


The whisper of gander

and moans of the dying.

She tries hard to enjoy the

rising sun, to celebrate the

end and her survival.

"It'll be okay," she tells herself.

"Just as long as I don't



But she knows what she'd see.