I can feel something unraveling inside me. No radio to call for help. No boat on which to leave. No husband here, as he said he was, when he pleaded for me to come. No home to return to, only ash. And I have killed a man and left his body in the sun to be picked at. I have shown him to children, and altered the way they see the world. I am a tunnel, wind screaming through me. And into this empty space comes a mad thought, unbidden. They have killed him. My husband.
