Soft Defiance

We stood in the calm after the storm, reeling from the horror that once took place below our feet.
As we peered over the the edge of the ancient tank, a whiff of dried blood and fear sprang up to meet us. It was nearly a month after the incident. A month of pain and confusion, etched indelibly in our minds. And yet, it was all so fresh.

I closed my eyes. I could still see the man, stumbling about in a panic below us, his eyes lit with a fire I hope I'll never know. Thrashing, biting, tearing away at himself like a caged animal, he ran at the glass walls. I remember a dull thud and the sight of smeared blood. It was chaos in a vacuum. Panic incarnate. Fear.
Reeling from the impact he fell to the ground, writhing about, cursing the world around him, cursing life, cursing the system, and cursing us. I shiver at the thought.

I've replayed that fateful night a thousand times... always in silence, like a muted explosion. Now, my eyes open to calm, and all I hear are sounds: birds chirping, the coarse crash of the ocean in the distance, the subtle whisper of wind tossing about tattered police tape. They speak in soft defiance to the horror that marks this spot. We stand rooted, like trees in the arctic, growing out of infertility. Using our pain as fuel, our fear for growth.