I was closing out the night shift at my radio gig; playing old school favorites during the Sunday gospel feature. It was likely the last of many positive vibes I would feel in a long time. Ironically, I was locked in a radio station and had no means of outside news sources. Last I heard, she was headed in another direction; possibly avoiding the trip to the city altogether.
On Monday, we activated Operation Get-out-of Dodge and escaped into the night headed in the direction of Destination Unknown.
We packed light in hopes that we would return home a day later. She was a wild one; changing her course of direction every few hours. No one could keep track of the free-spirited whirlwind and no one could tame her. She was such a heartbreaker that she shall remain nameless. Folks said, “consider yourself lucky. You left.” But, there’s something about watching folks, left behind, perish and there’s nothing you can do. With every news clip and video angle, destruction abound.
After the waters receded, we returned. Our home was a place of desolation. A stillness had fallen over the city. Not even a bird or a hum from an insect could be heard. The stench from rotting bodies overwhelmed. Photostatic memories erased.
Recovery was inevitable because we are strength personified. Despite the reports, we were not waiting for handouts. We were extending our hands to one another. You crushed our homes but #ibedamned not our spirits.
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