Pripyat

Cyrillic writing lines the walls, and broken windows have shattered, as if made only for that purpouse. Everything is still here. All my belongings, cannot be removed, for fear of drastic cell growth whenever I touch them. My life was spent here, I was born here. In Pripyat. And I remember when they made us leave. The ferris wheel no longer moves. The trees only shudder with the strange effect of radiation, and metal clanging on metal, as the wind moans, bouncing off the barren walls. And old districts I had once been, they are still there. But the buses don't stop. They aren't there. The cars don't move, the faces don't smile. Because the faces, aren't there. My albino eyes don't see the jubilation that was once a natural habitat here. My mind, it is distorted. I remember the things that happened here, when, and how. But it doesn't matter. I am not allowed here, and I should leave. But, I guess I could spend one more night. It wouldn't hurt.