What if you hit someone, I thought
What if you hit someone with your pickaxe
Someone who’s alive, someone who’s still breathing
What if you hit him
Or worse, her
And you kill them
What if you kill someone who’s still alive while digging for dead bodies with your pickax

How would you feel?
Their life
All they have ever known
Without even a second chance to see the flash
Stolen by the haphazard thief

They can still hear
sirens, HELP!, weeping
They can still smell
burning, smoke, flesh
They can still feel
sadness, heat, pressure
They can still taste
blood, salt, ash
They can still see
black, black, black

They are still alive
Until your pickax attempts to be an aid
Instead entering their gaping mouth
Chipping away at a wall of teeth
Breaching a fleshy roof
Climbing through to their cranium
Covering itself in their shock and awe
Putting an end to all hope


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