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The Lightning War

I want to paint, sirens wailing like a murderous scream, the dying flames disappearing in acrid smoke, the plane engines tormenting roars as the spitfire jet swiftly swoops past.

 

I want to paint the black skies as the stars shimmer like measly specks of golden glitter, the smell of sweat of blood being devoured by falling buildings, the smoke of flames spreading like a plague.

 

I want to paint the rush of people leaving a war struck zone, the worry inside of me building up eager to explode in a tantrum, the taste of my salty tears.

 

I want to paint the Lighting War.

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