As Cathy left the station it should have been the normal short walk to her home. Instead, the street was silent, deathly silent. Where once stood the little square townhouses there was nothing but dying embers and charred remains producing a smoke so dense it just hung motionless in the air, so acrid it made the back of her eyes water.

Cathy stepped backwards into the station building. Nothing seemed out of place, passengers and staff moved and chatted as if nothing had happened. Through the glass doors she could see the street and the little square town houses, untouched and undamaged. Was she going crazy?

Cathy stepped out into the street once more. Sure enough, there was the hustle and bustle of the towns folk heading home. The little town houses stood proudly in front of her. The long hours had taken a toll on her, Cathy thought as she turned to walk home.

That evening she sat with her mother watching the news on TV. As two politicians discussed the elevations of tension between East and West, and the increasing likelihood of nuclear war, Cathy thought of the missiles located outside of the town and wondered.

©JG Farmer 2018

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