Klara Monologue

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Prologue The smell of burning flesh is repugnant. It lingers on every street corner, on every piece of cloth, in every shallow breath. The sky is red. Glowing through black clouds that are heavy with the ashes of those who have stopped screaming. More than three thousand tonnes of high explosive bombs are dropped. Again. Again. Again. Just like dust caught in a sunbeam, the ash swirls a slow descent. The air pulls in. Pauses. Pressure building. The blood in your veins almost recoils, your brain bruised in your skull. A moment of vertigo. Then nothing but noise. Loud. Angry. Ringing. And pain, so much pain. Screams rise, the crescendo approaches. Hellfire rips through the buildings, the sky, the people, your heart. This city is a firestorm.…show more content…
His opalescent eyes looking at her, and Klara looking everywhere else. Staring out the window, she saw in the corner of her eye his lips twitch. ‘Walther--' ‘--What father?' ‘What was it he said?' ‘I don't know, what?' ‘Something,' he says as Klara sighs, ‘something idiotic. Oh. So peaceful. It was something…‘ ‘Oh leave it, papa.' Klara shifts her gaze from him to the window on her left. ‘It was his medic thing. You know Klara. Don't say you don't.' ‘'First, do no harm.'' As Klara told him, she heard Walther saying it to her, young and bright, while he fixed her finger a splint. ‘First, do no harm!' He laughs, ‘Ah that was it.' he laughs again. Klara doesn't respond. Instead, she looks down at the broken wicker and starts to run the sharp edge under her thumb nail. ‘What nonsense. A man. He comes to you. He puts a barrel to your head. He says,' he coughed, tendrils of spit hanging from his lips as he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. Klara pushed herself deeper into her chair. When he had finished wiping his lips and stuffed the kerchief back into his trouser pocket, he continued. ‘Tells you he is going to put that bullet in your head. Any decent man should turn, fight, take that man down. You do not ‘'do no harm'', you make sure you are the toughest. He never did. ‘ Klara feels her stomach contract. She can't be bothered to tell him again, that is not what it means. She starts to ram the piece of wicker harder into her nail. Siphoning out the rising
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