A Pair of Birds

Raja found it finally, buried in the debris, lodged between the fallen rubble. He picked it up carefully, wiping it gently with his palm. Without its blue backdrop wall, against which it had been hanging for as long as he could remember, it had lost its colour. The flying white birds had lost their vibrance, they looked washed out, their fluid motion as they flew into the sky, did not seem quite life-like now. The picture was dirtied anyway. He was tired, washed out, like the pair of birds in the picture. He would sit down a moment. The air was full of human ashes and screams and cries. And lonely and silent.