It hasn’t been that bright in ages. A light breeze spins the banners around the far poles, making me think the air is breathable. Maybe the sunlight did that, too.
Ah. I still call it sunlight.
Ten thousand troops marched to their death on the plains just beyond this window. I watched the shuttles drop them before their glorious final stand. The bombers emerged from the clouds and crushed them all. Our cheers turned to anguish, as so many of our sons and daughters had marched in our places.
The banners turn to ash and my window implodes.
So bright.