Wordle 746 - When the Sirens Blare

why not?  I've always been a glutton for punishment.  click here to read all the contributions, and Make Sure To Leave A Comment to let people know you've enjoyed their work - even if you didn't.  I leave a comment on everyone's posts (even if they have an horrifically appropriative name for their blog and double down on their racism when you point it out).

 

 

 

shelter step rocks rose settle tremble edge left flesh scrap ghost messy

 

rushing down the 43 steps from my apartment (twice while writing this post) into the bomb shelter with my neighbors - more for those on the higher floors - as the air trembles with explosions above us, we settle into our places.  the three Russian ladies and the guy I assume is one of their sons against the far wall, their poor dog on its leash at their feet, or under their chairs when more than the usual number of unruly children are locked in with us.  one of their elders can't even make it down the stairs in the minute and a half we have to get there and seal the door shut, so she sits on a chair in the hallway outside of their apartment.  also in the hallway is Elena (when she's awake), the elderly woman who lives in the apartment across from me - her personal care worker runs down to the shelter with the rest of us.  the Ethiopians (mostly a pile of unruly children as schools are closed during these times of frequent bombings, whose parents are all essential workers) on the dilapidated old couch on the adjacent wall; the boys absorbed in the video games and social media reels on their phones; the girls chattering away loudly (causing the traumatized dog to slink under her owner's chair rather than lay on the blanket she puts down for her) and posturing in the full length mirror, while slapping and teasing each other by snatching phones from hands and snapping pictures; the littlest boy (too young for a phone of his own) playing with a yellow balloon that makes the terrified dog bark when it comes too close, a sound that hits the eardrums like rocks against metal reverberating uncomfortably in the enclosed concrete space that is already messy with echoes.  on the far wall is where the people who came in from the street stand (no chairs for them) because even though this shelter is in our building, our regularly locked front door is thrown open during emergencies to accommodate our neighbors (we're all neighbors here).  And me, settling down on the only scrap chair left, in the far corner by the barely hidden toilet at the edge of the shelter, just right for a fleshed ghost such as myself what rose from who knows where, or why - the only Israeli/American in the building, and quite possibly the neighborhood.