I raise my hand out of my window. I expect drops of water to wash my hand, but today it’s not that. I feel ash on my hands, it is not just falling on my hands, it is making my hand tremble. I try to remember what happened but there is no memory. Only my hands covered with soot. I peak outside and find layers and layers of ash covering the ground. It feels as if the land itself is trembling due to the effect of the ash. There were no trees showing me life, no green no sun just black ash and barren life everywhere. I think there was a fire yesterday, what else can explain the change otherwise. But this fire not only burnt the scene I see now it burnt the world. Not the buildings, not the roads but people. It burnt every living trace on the earth. When I saw closely I find that not every person is dead. I am alive and there are people who are walking on the streets wearing nothing but a blanket over them. An expression common on every man’s face. An expression of losing hope. The expression we were born with was erased. They had submitted themselves without struggle. The fire was still there and it burnt something inside the person. The falling ash was the hope being burnt. They had lost their reason to believe.