Once again, you were picking up the pieces.

Storm had destroyed the boats docked, the shanties scattered along the beach, and much of the history of the town.

You knew no one was coming for help,

and the helicopters which flew overhead showed no interest in what remained of the town.

You wondered how many of those pilots had come from small towns like this. Did they feel anything

knowing people were likely still alive here?

Everyone had to choose sides when things started falling apart, and you got that. The devil you

know is better than the devil you don't, and a lot of people just wanted peace, even if that meant

the loss of freedom. People just want to, even if that meant the loss of freedom.

People just want to provide for their family.

But what about when your family is no longer a concern for the side you've chose?

The side you've dedicated your life for in hopes of a better future?

At least better than what you imagine the alternative to be.

Where was the line drawn?

For the Blackhawks overhead, that wasn't a concern.

They weren't search and rescue helicopters, so you knew something was up.

For now, you couldn't extend the mental bandwidth to think about what might be happening in the city that had been your home for a decade.

You wanted to feel bad for it, but you couldn't even work up the illusion of sympathy.

You looked back towards the beach, the waves rocking the scraps of lumber and picture frames

scattered across the sand.

Destruction like this was absolute.

The remains were irrevocably destroyed.

...