looking into a desolate world through two feet of nuclear bomb

proof glass,

fingers pressed against it and shoulders slack, eyes holding no wonder

for the common sight,

she could only wonder if that was to become their fate one day as well,

or if the war would stay

outside the way it had for centuries - letting a new one be waged from the

inside, just like the last



where she was raised in a cradle

of wires and steel

vile liquid and metal arms, her

only lullaby the sound

of her own forming heart beat and

infantile gills filtering,

there were communities fighting, still

against the vicious reign of atomic wasteland

chernobyl had practically become a fashion statement



she shook her head and nearly laughed

at the thought of venturing outside,

knowing full well the toxins would do

more than poison her, melt her fragile

gills and burn her delicate breathing

ways. what was there for her? for any

one who dared, who was expelled from

this beautiful, industrialized haven

- the last of it's kind, the last on

the planet. wasn't it paradise, to be

so very safe and sound, assured, even

with the corruption that dwelled deep

within their human roots, human hearts.



she had to tell herself that this utopia never was perfection

and the world outside of it was never perfection to those who hailed it

as their utopia in turn. no matter how free they were from her society's ball and chain

they were bound

by the scars

of their own.