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War is a Bomb.War is a bomb.
It takes months, weeks, years to prepare, each intricacy to be finalised, everything to be set in place. Everything must be gathered, collected, attained.
It takes time, usually being allowed to rest upon a shelf until it's use becomes beneficial.
When the time comes, the fuse is lit, not a great action, no, but a poignant one.
It goes off, shattering and leaving shrapnel about the place, some panic and attempt to clean it quickly, some are wounded, injured, killed. Some merely dismiss it, a view in their peripheral, something to not be dealt with, something they daren't touch.
And some never forget; the blackened walls, structures so mighty brought down in an instant, torn flesh and singed skin.
Flashes of scarlet.
All chaos swirling around, brought about in a tiny sliver of time.
The wounds will heal, maybe, the memories will fade, perhaps, but war defines us, it sticks, it remains to this day and onwards, the burnt remains of our world it's indicator, it's mark t
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