When the World Goes Quiet

by Gian Sardar

Sleep on, pale Bruges, beneath the waning moon, For I must desecrate your silence soon, And with my bombs’ fierce roar, and fiercer fire, Grim terror in your tired heart inspire: For I must wake your children in their beds And send the sparrows fluttering on the leads! —“The Bombing of Bruges” by English pilot Paul Bewsher

“Right and wrong—those ideas not only depend on who tells the story, but on when the story stops. Or when it starts. Wouldn’t you agree? Not everyone gets the full picture. When you’re in the midst of something, it’s hard to see that. Though we’re at the end of this war, we’re still very much in the midst. Now you go; I’m late.”

For once, I did my best, but I’ll have you know, all I wanted to do was my very worst.

life is repetitive. Maybe it’s the journey humans need. But every so often, a war or a plague or what have you. A hundred years pass, and our streets look different, so different that we think we’re nothing like the people who came before us. Our situations, our circumstances, they’re all new. They must be, we think, because we’re so different. We want to be different. But at the core, everything’s the same. A hundred years ago, two hundred years ago. The same lessons learned differently. And no matter when it is, you can guarantee something’s waiting in the wings to make us feel broken, but more importantly, to force us to find a way through.”

everyone knew, at the start. Or they thought they did because we were sold a laundry list of wrongs so we’d want to be involved, because we need a villain. But is that what happened with the Germans too? With everyone? All I see now are miscalculations and nationalism and alliances, countries dragged in when it didn’t even affect them.