They were having that conversation again. I cannot fathom it. It is beyond fathoming, I think. But those last moments. I can imagine them. Yes.
Words, it seems, are empty vessels, shattered and left to ruin among the smoldering remnants. What can be said? In the end, what can be said, spoken down vast hallways clinging to grim silence, echoing and sterile, falling dead?
They peered, one looking over the others shoulder at what was left. An effigy of destruction. There were words spoken, and gestures, a hand tenuously reaching out in the fragile morning light.
The past cannot be reached. We are mutes, screaming through the flames.