Hellfire This isn't the first time I've seen
buildings at their height spike into flames
before collapsing under the weight
of smoke and sparks.
And though this is so much farther away
it feels so much more real
than a plane crashing into a field.
I ask myself why and I wonder
if it's because I spent so much time
in high school studying French.
I conclude it's probably based on a trip
that should have been,
playing Scottish, Spanish, Parisienne
from an airport outside of Reykjavik.
A friend of a friend laments the loss
of physical reminders of memories
she will probably one day lose.
I mourn missing what might have been,
something becoming entirely too common
even as the days grow brighter.
I wonder if the bells will still toll.
I wonder if the world will ever be free again.
I wonder about Frollo's temptation,
thinly-veiled lust
behind a smokescreen of repulsion
at the thought, the threat of sin.
I don't know if I'll get that chance again.
I don't know if we'll all just burn.
I wonder until the sparks
move into my head,
until cardinal-cloaked monks
close in around me.
I wonder if Quasimodo made it out okay.
I dream of gargoyles grabbing spires
like Superman saving a screaming civilian
trapped beneath a car
or a vampire stopping impact with
a press of his fist.
This isn't the first time I confuse
dreams and imaginings
with fears and realities.
Juliette Sebock is the author of Mistakes Were Made and has work in publications including Royal Rose Mag and Cauldron Anthology. She is the editor-in-chief of Nightingale & Sparrow and runs a lifestyle blog, For the Sake of Good Taste. When she isn't writing (and sometimes when she is) she can be found with a cup of coffee and her cat, Fitz. She can be reached at her website and across social media at @juliettesebock. She is a regular contributor of Marías at Sampaguitas.
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