inspiration + perspiration = invention :: T. Edison ::
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Strained, unsteady, broken silence.
It's not still, not really, the moments between the blast and the aftermath counted in fevered heartbeats.
There was noise. Movement, activity. Work and play.
Then a brief, shaky push, and no one knew to stop and savor the moment before panic and hurry and terror.
People pushing, metal screaming, fears reeling in aftershocks.
Everyone's mind captures the microseconds between blow and impact, ignorance and knowledge, a brief sliver of reality never to be regained.
Now years later, echoing from behind to toll onward more, as we gather to remember, there's a pause, a hush.
All is silent for one brief moment more.
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